


Flawed Perfectionists

by ChibiKuroroLucifer



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Kuroro's Past, M/M, kurokura
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-06-20 04:11:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiKuroroLucifer/pseuds/ChibiKuroroLucifer
Summary: KuroKura. Set between York Shin and Dark Continent arcs, this story is a loyal extension of canon. Kurapika encounters Kuroro in a bookstore and captures the Nen-less master thief. How long can the Kuruta stand Kuroro Lucifer before he loses it? This is a story of ideological challenge and of emotional adventure, a struggle for control, featuring ever changing relationships for the Chain Pair. Some of these are unbalanced, abusive, friendly, cold, naive and full of admiration, filial, and of course, romantic. The Chain Pair is a tangle of emotions to be explored. Chapters about Kuroro's past from Meteor City out into the world are inserted as a parallel plot.





	1. The Dead-Silent Reader in Black

Author's notes:  
Dear reader, please enjoy my work, which is an honest attempt to bring you joy, pleasure, and entertainment. Please comment generously!

* * *

**FLAWED PERFECTIONISTS  
** **The Fallen Angel and the Last Kuruta**

**A Bookstore, A Basement, and Two Post-Apocalyptic Survivors**

**Chapter 1**

**The Dead-Silent Reader in Black**

In the months Kuroro had spent living what people called a 'normal life', he had expertly evaded boredom. To be honest, that was not very difficult with people around. _Humans are truly entertaining._ Kuroro thought to himself, his mouth set in a skewed line of studious curiosity. What was the meaning of life? Probably to give it a meaning. Some spectacular paradox of futility!

It was often said that although individuals are rational intelligent beings, groups exhibit behavior that could be described as self-destructive at best, stupid at worst. Kuroro liked reading about it in the field of behavioral finance. Every single market crash, economic crisis, and financial meltdown could be adequately explained by this concept. _These people have the financial supervision they deserve, and the leaders they deserve. Just look at--_ Kuroro was about to refer to yet another incompetent president, an official embarrassment for the nation, but he decided against it. In fact, he couldn't care less, and he was getting distracted by... _politics_ for Pete's sake. He might have read one too many social sciences books this week, Kuroro admitted to himself.

To rationalize the inherent uncertainty in the behavior of social beings was one reason why he enjoyed social sciences. In the course of his study, Kuroro was hoping to find redeeming qualities, but it only became painfully apparent that human behavior was completely stupid: a comedy so full of dramatic irony that even the actors were unaware they were on stage.

Kuroro caught himself looking out the window, watching the passersby. As he collected his textbook and moved to another, more isolated desk, he thought about the act of observing unsuspecting others. Suppose someone was observing him; judging his behavior to be haughty and oblivious; an enemy, or a fan, _why exclude the wild possibility?_ Or simply someone reading about his life in an account written by an author who had absolutely nothing better to do than to write about him. _Scrap that possibility._ He dismissed the entire idea, since he was sufficiently self-critical to serve as an adequate observer of his actions. _Q.E.D.,_ he thought with amusement.

'Quod erat demonstrandum': one of the most satisfying punctuations in mathematics, which meant 'What was to be demonstrated' in Latin, and which indicated the end of the proof for a theorem. There was this weird sickness, widespread among mathematics aficionados, which entailed using Q.E.D. in non-mathematical contexts to emphasize a point of logical deduction. And Kuroro had just exhibited the first symptoms.

Even with no one around, there were many things to do. Kuroro enjoyed his own presence more than a healthy narcissist, and he was comfortable with that fact. His self-love, filling his heart, had left no space for anyone else, and the resulting lack of attachment had been instrumental for his survival. Self-entertainment aside, Kuroro Lucifer also had many books to read. Since the activation of the chain around his heart, Kuroro had lost use of his Nen; and all communication with the Spider had been cut off. He took the Kuruta's Curse as a vacation. The type of vacation 'normal people' enjoyed in their 'normal lives'. Whenever he started thinking about people other than himself, it was an indication he needed a break from his Phantom Troupe.

The Troupe banded together on big occasions to pull off legendary heists. Being Danchou, their boss, for a month was more than enough stress and responsibility for a year. Yes, Kuroro had _stress_. He still had to deal with Hisoka, but Kuroro was in no hurry to get in touch with the clown.

He sighed. Kuroro liked his team more than anything else but being their leader 24/7 was too much to handle. He thought of Jesus with twelve apostles expecting miracles on a daily basis. What he liked to call 'Nobunaga's management' was time consuming. Convincing Machi to act against her instinct in a diplomatic manner, or getting Bolonerov to express an opinion which would decide on a course of action were exhausting tasks. Then there was Feitan. Kuroro fundamentally disagreed with his approach to, everything, really; but there were cases where torture had proven effective. It was just too messy; it lacked elegance. Blood was supposed to remain inside people's bodies, that was basic anatomy. He had seen Feitan's white fingers on sharp metal all too much... Kuroro looked around to think of something else: the books were stacked in an orderly fashion all around him. This was no surprise; it was the math section. No one ever came here. After all, who would read this for fun? He got back to his book, which _he_ was reading for fun.

Kuroro's quest for knowledge directed his life. He would use any means necessary to advance his mastery. Stealing was not even a second nature, it was the story of his life. His most powerful ability, Skill Hunter, relied on how thoroughly he understood each stolen Hatsu. Many conditions had to be fulfilled before he could use his victim's Nen creation as his own. On every page of his Skill Hunter, a detailed and illustrated explanation dissected the Hatsu ability. To steal someone's ability, he had to know everything about it. First, understand the theory behind the Hatsu ability, why it was invented, and what it was meant to accomplish. Second, master its applications. Adapt the ability to new uses and objectives. Last, explore the mind that created the skill for increased association and further reference.

Nothing short of this knowledge compiled in a notebook worthy of Leonardo da Vinci could constitute a condition restrictive enough to use this repository of Nen. If God had made Man, who in turn developed Nen, Kuroro Lucifer made it into the greatest power known to Man and God, assuming there was a God, which to the best of his knowledge was not the case. Indeed, pride must have been his downfall in a former life, and he was comfortable with that. Hence the name Lucifer, the Archangel, Bringer of Light.

With Kurapika's Judgement Chain, he could not expose himself to Nen. If he observed Hatsu abilities, it was probable that his survival instinct would react to anything threatening or interesting, activating his own Nen and the Kuruta's doomsday device as a result. Being a resourceful man, Kuroro had found a safe training method. _Safe._ Kuroro laughed inwardly. Studying ancient cultures and their theories was just the same to him as completing the requirements for adding a page to his Skill Hunter. The Western civilization's mathematics of the post-imperialist period was among his all-time favorites for this exercise. Presently, his mind was engulfed in this new textbook on fluid dynamics.

The Benjamin-Bona-Mahony Equation (BBM)

also known as the Regularized Long-Wave Equation (RLWE)

is the n-dimensional Partial Differential Equation

Ut - Laplacian of Ut + div phi(U) = 0

_For any sufficiently smooth function phi. Preferably analytic._ He thought to himself. This felt precisely the same as stealing abilities for some reason. _Is it perhaps that I can read other people like an open book?_ Kuroro had made too many puns about books recently. Even he was starting to feel the cringe. Thinking back to stealing abilities, Kuroro realized that the skills he needed were not widespread. _Reading about this BBM Equation, for example, must be extremely tedious for a majority of people; otherwise the math section would be crowded like any other section in this bookstore._ Kuroro almost added a QED to his proud realization, but managed to hold back.

In Euclidean space, using Cartesian coordinates, BBM becomes

Ut + Ux + UUx - Uxxt = 0

_And ooooo look at that tail of interference!_ Kuroro was happy where he was, with what he was doing. Kuroro was an aesthete at heart. Good old Western mathematics was one of these fields which was guaranteed to satisfy his taste for beauty. Kuroro put down the pen he was using to take notes in the margins and well beyond the margins of the library book. _Where is the mathematical derivation of the solution to BBM? No proof appendix? Right. It's a third order non-linear PDE. So that's chapter 10._ He couldn't let go, even from the frustration. Every time he pushed himself to the limit, he could feel his heart aching. The Chain Assassin's Curse was warning him not to use his abilities. He would have to figure this out by himself. He was capable of seeing this through.

Kuroro did impose this on himself for fun, and he was having fun, swimming in somebody else's mind. There were five authors. He could distinguish three clear influences and personalities. Maybe the others were proof-readers.

Kuroro caught himself drowning in the breath-taking beauty of the tail of interference, and turned the page to assert his self-control. Picture books were the best. He missed his own conjured book, and his beautiful bookmark. He hadn't even gotten the occasion to test out the bookmark ability, and that Kuruta had taken it away from him. Kuroro Lucifer made a childish face to show the world how upset he was about it, then he decided to keep his head above the water and concentrate on the problem, pen in hand.

oooooo o oooooo  
**Flawed Perfectionists  
** oo o oo

Kurapika had finished his last shift before a well-deserved break. Did he even have any of those? They were breaks in name only, but his hopes for respite were up. Kurapika removed the black lenses he wore professionally. He neatly stored and locked away the knife he was required to have at work before sitting on his sofa, a piece of furniture which enjoyed a panoramic view of the ocean all day long. The sofa objectively had a better life than him, but Kurapika was not at the point where he would envy its inanimate existence. The sound of the waves below set a steady cadence for his breathing pattern: it soothed Kurapika's nerves in the exact same way Senritsu's flute worked its magic. He had not seen Senritsu since quitting his job at the Nostrads'.

Kurapika silently disagreed with just about every employer he could potentially work for, but Konstantin Arilyubov exasperated him. He was intelligent. He had the potential to do so much better with his power. The man had chosen Kurapika as his counsellor because the Kuruta challenged his ideas in a constructive manner, but Kurapika was starting to think that Arilyubov was a lost cause. He wanted to think of something less depressing: a situation in which he was not at the short end of the stick.

Kurapika thought about his incredible Nen powers. Kuroro Lucifer's Nen remained suppressed by his Judgment Chain, and the feeling gave him confidence and serenity. It was like gripping an object securely. He felt powerful; in control for once. More than anything, he awaited the day on which he would destroy the Phantom Troupe: his pain and torment incarnated. That man Lucifer would feel retribution, rage, and revenge with a capital R.

Kurapika got ready to leave. He checked the corridors before silently closing the door to his apartment behind him. He was finally going out to get that book he had considered buying for the last few days. He had opted for a light read this time. Something with illustrations and graphs. He didn't really know why he enjoyed reading. He wasn't using books as a means to escape his anxieties, was he? No, Kurapika had been reading for as long as he could remember. He just had an insatiable thirst for information.

Kurapika walked out onto the street, automatically checking his surroundings. Working for the mafia was one thing, but being targeted by flesh-dealers because he was the Last Kuruta brought an increased risk to every outing. Every movement he made was expertly controlled. He seamlessly navigated through the public, and entered the bookstore he had looked up. No one had noticed him. The sound of his chains rang with the bell at the shop's entrance, as his hand casually slid in his pants' right pocket. He was not nervous. Kurapika would ask for the ancient European cultures section, look up the mathematics book on the shelves by authors' names, retrieve it, pay for the item without showing his Hunter's License, and go home, no one the wiser.

He was not apprehensive. Kurapika walked up the stairs and followed the librarian's instructions. He sighed in relief when he found the area empty. _Well of course it's empty: this is the mathematics section, genius. Nobody buys these books for fun, and even if you study math, they're provided by the university._ After skimming past the first aisle, he noticed a guy studying at a side desk. Kurapika looked left and right. He was out of luck. The math section was all around the man; he would have to ask him to move. His black hair matched the black suit he was wearing, and there was a black pen parallel to the top edge of the book with which he had written on the pages. His handwriting was italicized, small, and neat, and _everywhere_. Kurapika recognized the textbook this guy was taking notes in. It was clearly not his, because it wasn't even for sale, only for reference. Kurapika frowned disapprovingly at the impossible reality before him. It felt like this display had been expertly crafted to trigger his many OCDs.

It wasn't clear whether he was awake, or even alive, with his head bowed over the book and his black hair down: he was absolutely silent, and the total lack of aura was uncanny. Being silent in a bookstore was far from shocking. It was the void in human life energy which put him off. The raven-haired man felt like a hallucination. Kurapika's eyes went wide at the sight of the white cloth wound around the man's forehead. Kurapika started arguing with himself, his mind muttering answers to his questions.

_How did I fail to notice him earlier? Oh, right. My Judgment Chain completely nullified his aura. How did he get here? I stranded him in the deserted plateaus of-- that was months ago: he could have walked here indeed._ He thought. _Never mind. Everything's normal. Lucifer is still alive and well, and no one cares! No one cares! Fine, I'm the only Hunter who cared in the first place, so maybe I should stop caring. How is he still alive? Why is he still alive? Well, nobody killed him and he didn't spontaneously combust, so it is only logical that_ I _run into him, because nobody else cares about Kuroro Lucifer._

Kurapika had encountered his mortal enemy in the city center. Kuroro's presence among the public enraged him, and he felt like he was drowning in the painful light of their common interests. Kuroro had an A-class bounty floating above his head, yet he was literally walking the streets. Actually, reading in a bookstore. Kurapika knew he should have listened to his paranoia. His chains had materialized as soon as he had entered. They knew.

Kurapika had been standing there for more than a minute, staring as if he had never seen someone read a book before. He didn't know what to do next: killing Kuroro Lucifer there and then came to mind more than once, but Kurapika never let his intention show. Kuroro finally looked up at the newcomer, put _his_ book back in place, stood up, pocketed the pen, and pushed his chair under the desk before jumping elegantly over the table. He bowed to greet the Kuruta. Kurapika already felt under attack. _You're standing a bit too close to me, but I guess, whatever?_

"May I ask what you're doing here?" Kurapika's whisper turned into a hiss entirely on its own accord and lashed out at the taller man's throat. He wanted to yell, to throw him out the window, to defenestrate him, or better yet, make an extra window, but this was a bookstore, and Kurapika was fully capable of controlling his emotions. Kuroro's neatness and good manners were getting under his skin, though. Kurapika had expected Kuroro, the leader of the gang that had destroyed his clan, and that had robbed him from his childhood to be a blood-thirsty brute. Here he was, looking like some hybrid between a student and a businessman, a weird allegory of the intellectual elite; contradicting the image which had fueled his rage.

Kuroro closed his eyes for a brief thought: _I gave you a chance to ignore me and to get on with your life, Kuruta._ He opened them again and assumed an affable attitude.

"Kurapika, what a pleasure it is to meet again."

Kuroro wanted to add in the same whispered shout Kurapika had used, 'I was reading!' As if it was a secret, but he resisted the burning urge to do so.

"My name is not for you to use. I am here to announce the end of your life is near," Kurapika continued in that same library-appropriate voice of fury.

"Ah I see. You're here to invite me to the funeral," Kuroro said with a straight face.

Kurapika was confused for a moment. Kuroro couldn't possibly be serious: he was utterly defenseless, and he was making fun of his death threat. "I don't like funerals that much. Alternatively I could take you out for dinner. We could resolve this diplomatically. I could sign a paper saying-- "

Kurapika got out his handgun, pointed it at Lucifer's temple and pushed the man's head sideways with the armed weapon.

"Move."

Kuroro smiled. He was enjoying himself like never before.

"Here's my phone and my wallet. I can't take you out for dinner?" He ducked and heard the detonation. "Alright! I got it!" When he saw Kurapika had shot the ceiling, Kuroro relaxed back to his serious state. Kurapika stood his ground and rearmed. Kuroro could see that the blonde had gained experience during his employment as a bodyguard. Kurapika looked composed, but in fact he was still trying to decide what to do about Lucifer.

"That was a warning. Attempt anything funny and I'll shoot _you_ this time. You're playing with my anger management here, and I'm afraid at the moment I'd rather tear you to pieces than stand your living person. I've got you chained, so you can't run."

"With such _excellent_ company," Kuroro's face was inexpressive as ever, but he closed his eyes on the word 'excellent' to mock Kurapika a little more, "why would I run?"

Kurapika was unamused: he gestured him to the stairs at gunpoint. He walked close behind Lucifer, gun directed at the criminal. The blonde didn't want Kuroro to involve other people.

"Hands down. Act normal."

_There it is again. That word. 'Normal',_ Kuroro noted.

"My hands were already down," he said calmly, then exclaimed: "and you're the one who shot the ceiling! Who does that?", turning to Kurapika for an explanation, his hands up in the air.

"Why don't you understand orders?" Kurapika asked in desperation as if he were asking why Kuroro was giving up his life so soon.

_Oh I understand them; I just choose not to follow them. I_ give _orders from dawn to dusk, around the clock, in person, or from the other side of the world, to anyone and everyone. That's my job description, remember?_

Kuroro decided he'd say one word. No more, because clearly Kurapika was losing it.

"Look-- " Kurapika's Eyes shot scarlet. "Rhetorical question? Rhetorical question."

Kurapika thought with amazement: _I can't even decide whether I should punch him or shoot him first._ His breath was shaking.

"Please don't give me another reason to end your miserable existence here and now." Kurapika shoved him forward. Commenting from behind, Kurapika freely expressed his thoughts out loud: "It would be such a shame for this young man to _die_ before saying goodbye to his equally promising friends. Get this man a lover! If at least he were in love, he would be too busy to destroy other people!" Kurapika almost yelled the last words. "Oh but I forgot: he's a lost cause. He has this unfortunate tendency of killing people he's mildly interested in."

Kuroro loved the comments; he could not remember the last time he had gotten so much attention from anyone, expressed in such crude and convincing words no less. The blonde seemed pretty worked up already. In Kuroro's experience, an angry enemy was just as easy to deal with as a drunk one. All he had to do was dodge the fire and press the right buttons; and he would have free entertainment for days.

Kurapika wasn't just any old Hunter: he was the teenager who had gotten farthest in terms of the world's attempt to destroy him. Kuroro almost thanked Kurapika for taking him out of the bookstore to see some real human behavior first hand instead of just reading about it like a thirsty vampire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Copy-paste a sentence you liked. ^^


	2. Levels of Control

**FLAWED PERFECTIONISTS  
** **The Fallen Angel and the Last Kuruta**

**A Bookstore, A Basement, and Two Post-Apocalyptic Survivors**

**Chapter 2**

**Levels of Control**

Kurapika had wanted to buy something to read but he had been awarded the grand misfortune of finding Kuroro Lucifer in the bookstore first, so he forgot about his book altogether. The local Odinse police would arrive on site any second now and Kurapika had no intention of making this incident the public scandal he could trust Kuroro to create.

Odinse was a coastal city of international importance, about half the size of York Shin. Odinse was more isolated, which meant international sanctions would have a limited effect on its economy. Only citizens could legally acquire real-estate in the country, but of course the world’s wealthiest individuals found no difficulty in doing so. Kurapika was disgusted by the practice and had decided Odinse would never become his home, not that he ever felt at home anywhere. However, he had to admit it was a beautiful city: it was situated up in the mountains, surrounded by a temperate climate; parks created beautiful and functional open spaces, and the architecture remained harmonious throughout.

Odinse had kept a relatively low profile to avoid conflicts and the city had therefore not seen war inside its walls for centuries, leaving all its monuments and private wealth intact. With centuries of sealed off independence marked by protectionist measures and social directives, the population had become homogenous in culture and standard of living.

One noble family ruled Odinse from the outside. The House Istridsen, hugely popular with the locals, seemed to own everything. They heaved taxes and redistributed wealth to the population in the form of infrastructure, services, military, and economic defense. The Central Business District was the only independent pocket in the city. As Kurapika marched the notorious black-list criminal to a skyscraper in the city center owned by Arilyubov, Kuroro noticed they had left Istridsen territory and they now treaded on jenny-paved driveways in front of jenny-built magnate manors. Approaching the fancy entrance, Kurapika prepared his Hunter’s License.

“Smile.” Kurapika ordered.

Kuroro was already smiling. Then he wondered why. He tried to pick up a conversation:

“Might I say how generous it is of you to propose to put me up for the night, but I assure you, I have a place to stay of my own.”

_At least he understood I’m not taking him out for dinner,_ Kurapika thought as he gave the criminal a death stare.

“Let me guess,” Kuroro continued in a pleasant voice. “An order for silence, a death threat, and the disappointment of a parent.” Kuroro seemed to point at different parts of the blonde’s face as he pulled apart the emotion which the Kuruta flung at him. Kurapika slowly brought the gun up to Kuroro’s face. “And that’s a gun.” Kuroro continued with detached curiosity, as if that was even a thing.

“Must I really go as far as insulting you?” Kurapika was trying to rack his brains for a method which would make the bandit behave. Kuroro pretended to fear the verbal abuse as if it was a lethal weapon.

“No. No, no.” He turned and walked in front of Kurapika. “Smile.” He said, looking over his shoulder to the blonde. Kurapika just sighed.

They entered by the revolving doors. Kuroro was devising a plan to avoid the metal detectors but being escorted by Kurapika allowed him to bypass the entrance security check. Kuroro was disarmed. He wasn’t hiding anything. The Kuruta had seen his pen, and he wasn’t going to use it anyways. He just wanted to stay away from detectors because the magnetic field would put his senses into disarray. They turned a corner, and to Kuroro Lucifer’s terror, the room ended in four elevator doors. Kurapika told Kuroro to get into the elevator in a friendly tone of voice. Kuroro just smiled back. He would think twice before taking an elevator.

“It’s just an elevator,” said the blonde.

“I know. I don’t like them,” Kuroro answered with another smile.

“Please get inside the elevator now.” Kurapika also smiled.

“After you.” The invisible chains slowly moved Kuroro across the concrete floor. He shrugged. “After me then.”

For anyone watching them on CCTV, this must have been unbearably awkward.

Kuroro faced the mirror. He didn’t lack an elevator culture; he knew that he was expected to face the doors, but he desperately needed a distraction. It took the greatest effort for Kuroro not to grip the metal bar lining his reflection when they started descending. He ran his fingers through his hair, looked left and right, at the ceiling, then smiled at Kurapika, who couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows in disbelief. Kurapika did not have to tell Lucifer what to do when the doors opened.

Down below, they were about to enter a restricted area. To Kurapika, Kuroro looked a little unsettled, or incredibly distracted: he was turning to face different directions, tilting his head sideways, looking at the ceiling, then the floor and the empty walls. The security guard standing on the other side of a metal detector put a stop to this mysterious display by clearing his throat. Kuroro stood still, not wanting to go any further. Kurapika shook his head. _Maybe Lucifer is hearing ghosts._

“Please empty your pockets completely. You are about to be searched.”

The guard repeated the instructions in the local Odinse language. Kuroro proceeded to display the three items on him, a black cell phone, a black wallet, and a black pen, onto the tray.

“Please check your pockets for personal ID, and for any other items such as paper, medicine, coins, rope…”

“I’m taking this.” Kurapika muttered as he grabbed the phone and wallet before the guards could check the items.

_Oh but please do._ Lucifer put his hands casually in his pockets, then turned to appeal to his captor: “Kurapika, I really don’t like metal detectors.”

Kurapika sighed. “Just follow the procedure.”

Kuroro made a straight face of disappointment and turned to the guard.

“Search me all you like. But please... I have a problem with metal detectors.”

The security agent looked at his armed colleague. Lucifer didn’t look like the type of person who would have metal inside his body.

“Have you had surgery involving metallic objects?”

Kuroro sighed. “It would be easy to say yes, but no.” Kuroro made eye contact with Kurapika. He wouldn’t lie to the blonde... unless he was forced to. “It’s more complicated.” Kurapika was getting impatient. The Kuruta suspected Kuroro for trying to buy time. “Look, I don’t mind x-rays. Or even radiation. Just please don’t make me go through that magnetic field.” He pointed at the field as if it were a physical object, floating among them, in the middle of the room.

Kurapika got out his gun and threatened to raise it. “I don’t have time,” he said. Three security guards were pointing their weapons at Kuroro, two others at Kurapika. Kuroro laughed. He turned to face Kurapika and raised his arms until he reached the orthogonal pose of Jesus the Redeemer. _I’m about to demonstrate how tight your situation is,_ Kuroro thought.

“Kill me now,” said the leader of the Phantom Troupe. Kurapika’s eyes went wide.

“Don’t shoot!” Kurapika yelled. He pulled out his Hunter’s License and his professional ID, handgun still directed towards the ground. “Can’t you just search him?”

Kuroro didn’t move. The guard came forward and checked Kurapika’s ID. Handing it back to him, he bowed. “Yes, Sir! Sorry for the delay.”

“He’s the one delaying me.” Kurapika answered, sustaining Kuroro’s mocking gaze, as he took back his ID. Kuroro closed his eyes when the hand-held metal detector came up to his neck. His pen was taken away for inspection.

“Please remove the head-scarf,” said the guard. He was referring to the white bandage Kuroro wore to conceal the ornate cross on his forehead. Kurapika was worried but he didn’t let it show.

“Is that necessary?” The blonde asked. _If they recognize Lucifer, whose corpse was all over the newspapers only months ago, how will they react?_

“I have orders, but if you override them with your own, it won’t be necessary, Sir.”

“I override them,” Kurapika said.

Kuroro was searched, and nothing was found. The guard recited the instructions: “Any type of information record is forbidden for persons without official clearing. Photos, video, and audio footage, as well as written accounts are hereby prohibited. Raising your voice, injuring other persons, and damaging property of any kind is also prohibited. International V5 law applies where instructions are absent. Odinse law applies in voids of both instructions and V5 law. Would you please complete this form?”

The blonde immediately took over: “He doesn’t have a proper identity. Just give him a number and add me as a reference.” Kurapika directed. Seeing the guard was reaching for his radio, Kurapika insisted: “Just do as I say, please.” Once he made sure the guard took the form and started filling it out, Kurapika turned back to the man he dreaded most in the world. “Move,” he ordered. Kuroro waited for a security agent to turn off the metal detector before walking to the other side of the room. “Watch him.” Automatic weapons pointed anew in the raven-haired man’s direction.

“I see you’re at the head of a quaint little army,” Kuroro remarked, inspecting the guard closest to him. The guard took a step back and Kuroro smirked.

Kurapika quickly took off his suit jacket and put his weapons in the trays.

“Do I have clearance to physically abuse him?” asked the blonde. The guard was taken aback.

“Um well, yes, Sir.”

“Good.” Kurapika said, rubbing his wrist with his left hand and easing his shoulders as if to get ready to take a swing. He went through the metal detectors, and let himself get checked. Retrieving all his stuff as well as Kuroro’s phone and wallet, he signed a form, took the electronic card the guard handed him, and walked to the far side of the room.

“I’ll inform hierarchical superiors of everything. Please don’t do so yourself, as it would create a duplicate report. Just include it in my file.” Kurapika pressed a button to open the airlock. “Please enter,” he said. Kuroro did as he was told. Once Kuroro could not see the dial pad, Kurapika typed in the code and entered too. The door closed, Kurapika scanned the card he had received, and the following door started to open. “I swear I’ll just punch you next time.”

“So much violence!”

“Please behave.”

Kuroro lowered his eyes in a conciliatory manner, but a grin remained on his amused face. A few guards and electronic cards later, Kurapika opened the penultimate door. As they advanced further through the corridor, oxygen levels went down noticeably. Kurapika swiped a card to open the cell, never crossing the door frame; the room beyond was pitch black. He told Kuroro Lucifer to enter. Kurapika himself didn’t want to look inside this tomb.

“This is much better than the elevator.” Kuroro said joyfully. Kurapika sealed the cell and left.

Even in the darkest moments, this man Lucifer managed to mock life and death.

 

Kuroro was not afraid. Indeed he had always lived alongside death. What further disarmed the situation was the rational thought that Kurapika had not killed him despite the many occasions. He had tested the Kuruta’s patience and had deduced that the boy had other plans than simply wasting away his life, and their unplanned encounter guaranteed that the Kuruta’s intentions and means for execution had remained the same. Kuroro could bet his life that Kurapika would not kill him. If he won the bet, then he won, and if he lost, then he’d be dead already, so it didn’t really count as a gamble.

His voice had echoed off the walls, but the room was not too vast. Kuroro reached up to the ceiling. Nothing came into contact with his fingers. He jumped, still nothing. His boots echoed on the concrete. The ceiling was at the same distance as the four walls from where he stood in the center of the room. The size of his cell contrasted eerily with the corridor leading to it, as if it were a holding place for supernatural creatures and monsters. Then it struck him that the room was presently being used for this exact purpose. Kuroro walked straight ahead, his hands casually in his pockets; he heard the wall in front of him, it was also concrete: smooth to the touch for now, like a cheese grater when scraped under pressure. Kuroro sat against the wall and faced the door. The orientation made him feel comfortable; he had a panoramic view on the darkness as well as his head in the right direction.

By day Kuroro always used the sun as a geographic reference in the back of his mind. It was the way he had learned to survive back in Shooting Star City. In covered atmospheric conditions such as smoke and pollution where neither the sun nor the moon were visible, Kuroro was lucky. He believed he could feel the planet’s magnetic field itself. Kuroro had confirmed his superstition about magnetic sensitivity one day as he was driving under a high-voltage line carrying electricity over the road. Everything was ‘normal’ then suddenly he was underwater. The road was still there but it seemed to Kuroro like he was turning in liquid. In which direction, he could not say. That day, he experienced the fear of a head-on collision, which he avoided, of course, but still. The water feeling systematically drowned him every time he crossed a wide magnetic field too quickly. Therefore he avoided metal detectors whenever possible. His natural sense was made for the planet’s magnetic field, not man-made gadgets, duh. Perhaps this extra sense was the reason he never got lost in the ubiquitous and nondescript junk piles of ever-changing content in Shooting Star City.

He turned and associated an emotion to the feeling he perceived, then turned again. Facing this way felt good. Just imagine some infrared video recording displaying his behavior... He turned the other way.

“No. That was definitely North.”

In trains and on boats, Kuroro didn’t care about facing forward. Tilting North, however, was a hobby he enjoyed with Coltopi. His Phantom Troupe members thought they were side by side to speak in private, but in fact they were secretly enjoying the orientation. Good times. Good times. He smiled again.

Just for self-entertainment, Kuroro pretended to take out his pen, which he didn’t have anymore, and set it down on an invisible desk in front of him. As if he was back at the bookstore, he took the fluid dynamics textbook from its shelf in the dark, and opened the heavy volume. Flipping a few pages made of air and darkness, Kuroro moved his eyes from left to right in the void. He laughed uncontrollably at his idiotic behavior. “Can’t you act ‘normal’ for once?” He asked himself and laughed again. After each Danchou episode Kuroro felt overly joyful, elated, and free. The opposite of Danchou’s mysterious and fated self-control.

Whether Kuroro had the textbook with him or not would make no difference. It was too dark to read. Kuroro traced the equations out in front of him with his finger. “Third order partial differential equation. Partial space-space-time derivative, plus. No, that one has a minus sign. U sub t plus U sub x plus non-linear U times U x Minus U x x t is zero.”

This was more entertaining than just reading. The more he thought about it, the happier he was with his predicament. If the light switch was on the outside, lights off meant he could have another incredibly restful night’s sleep. This had serious advantages. Sound was dead. The ocean washing its waves onto the beach was well above him. From the basement, it seemed to have dried up.

oooooo o oooooo

**Flawed Perfectionists**

oo o oo

Admiring the view, Kurapika sat in his sea-couch, the couch that got to enjoy the view all day, reminiscing about the good days. He was starting to forget what his parents looked like. Kurapika absent-mindedly pulled at his crimson earring with one hand and closed his eyes. No. He hadn’t forgotten. With his eyes closed their faces were clear and complete. He could also see the Lukso forest in his mind’s eye; it was so beautiful. He had lived like a child in a fairytale, always reading about the ‘outside world’ as the Elders had called it. He spent his youth in the library, as if the forest outside his front door was less interesting a playing field to be explored.

He would give the world to have his youth back. Kurapika opened his eyes. No. In fact, he wouldn’t. It wasn’t right! Even if he owned the world, he would not trade it for his Lukso days. He had no right to sacrifice other people’s dreams and achievements. Kurapika’s employer had warned him about moral idealism: he had said it could well be his downfall. Kurapika didn’t care because it was his only reason to live on.

Kuroro feared elevators but not death. His arch-enemy was laughable, and this fact irked Kurapika; serious issues were to be treated seriously. He somehow felt insulted by Kuroro’s reaction, but it wasn’t Kuroro’s fault... This was getting complicated. Maybe he was overthinking the situation.

Kurapika would have done well to ask his friends for advice, but he could not bring himself to inform them. Gon and Killua, having nothing more important to do, would be all over him within 48 hours if they knew. Leorio would be yelling at him on the phone; first for not calling, then for worrying him, then for telling him last what was going on, then for getting into the situation in the first place; and for working him up so much that he had no choice but to yell at the blonde on the phone. Next he’d worry himself sick about Kurapika just because the idea of Kuroro Lucifer gave him the creeps.

Kurapika needed rational advice, not explosive drama, and regardless, he had sworn he would not put them in danger ever again. That was a lost cause, but the Kuruta was determined to limit the risks. Once the other Phantom Troupe members found out the Chain Assassin had killed their Danchou, it would increase his friends’ chances of survival if they stayed far from him, protected by the presence of other Hunters. He would pick off as many Spiders as he possibly could, one by one, before they could find his friends. He had to devise a plan to make it work.

Kurapika worked alone. This was why he could not help Gon, Killua, or Leorio develop their Nen. His powers were built on the scorching flames of the hell that churned within him. His rage would carry his body and would drive his crushing fist until he was discharged of his duty towards the Kuruta Clan. Kurapika looked down at his hands. What would he do? Let Lucifer die alone and forgotten down there? No. Neglect was too merciful a treatment; not pedagogical enough. Kurapika contemplated his revenge, lying down in the couch-with-a-view. Would he get his hands dirty? Break a few bones? Then heal Lucifer to start over again? The blonde curled up, afraid of the cruel feelings he was entertaining. It was so easy to get distracted. Kurapika got up, facing the ocean for inspiration. He would do the right thing. He had to figure this out alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Kuroro merely acting and pretending or is he really this vulnerable without Nen?
> 
> Pick a line of dialogue and leave it in the comments. ^^
> 
> Did anyone see the reference to water in this chapter and the other chapters? What is it symbolic of, according to you?


	3. Silence, Darkness, and an Interrogation Under Four Eyes

**FLAWED PERFECTIONISTS  
** **The Fallen Angel and the Last Kuruta**

**A Bookstore, A Basement, and Two Post-Apocalyptic Survivors**

**Chapter 3**

**Silence, Darkness, and an Interrogation Under Four Eyes**

After a sleepless night, a restless morning, and an even less productive early afternoon, Kurapika confronted the man who had taken away his life. He still needed to send in a report to his employer, Arilyubov, but he needed more time. If Kurapika hadn’t devised a plan of action, Arilyubov would force him to call over the Mafia Community for them to deal with Lucifer. Kurapika reopened the cell and switched on the light. Kuroro seemed perfectly content with the treatment of darkness in the underground room.

“How was your day?” Lucifer effortlessly pulled off with a dazzling smile.

_One of the worst days of my life, and you’re directly responsible. Such insolence!_ As _if_ Kurapika had forgotten the atrocities this man was capable of.

“Like you care.”

“Maybe I don’t. But I asked you regardless.”

Kurapika was wearing his tribal clothes. He felt much better harboring his Kuruta heritage than wearing the same black business uniform as Kuroro.

_I like your clothes,_ Kuroro commented to himself.

“Kuroro Lucifer, explain your operations here in Odinse.”

“I am currently taking a break from the Phantom Troupe. You know how they are.”

Kuroro was not ‘taking a break’. First of all, Kurapika had scattered the Geneiryodan, and second, what was Kuroro thinking, ‘taking a break’? Kurapika was not satisfied. He waited for Kuroro to say something relevant.

“I have received a personal invitation to attend the auction held annually by Istridsen.”

“Have any proof for the claim?” asked the blonde. This sounded like one too many auctions after York Shin City.

“As a matter of fact, I don’t, but you do.” Kuroro answered as if this was a magic trick he had learned from Hisoka. “In my wallet,” Kuroro explained. Kurapika retrieved the black leather wallet from under his cloak. Everything it held was stored away in an orderly fashion, as if prepared for this moment. Was Kurapika overthinking the situation again? Kuroro could not possibly have planned to be captured. The blonde easily found the hand-written invitation card, and checked its authenticity with Gyo. To his dismay, Kuroro’s name was unmistakably written on it by the hand of someone else.

“You can have it. Along with my other stuff. Keep it as a souvenir and take the money for all I care. You want my phone’s password and the PIN to my credit cards? No, seriously, they know me, so I don’t actually need the piece of paper.” It had no address on it. Kurapika had never heard of the auction. He needed to know everything. “And by the way, if you want me to stay here, I won’t be going,” Lucifer trailed off as though he were a girl who had hoped to go to a ball.

“What are they auctioning off this time?”

Kurapika added the last two words to make it sound like he knew the event.

“There’s only one way to find out. Attend.”

His bluff was obliterated. Kurapika conjured his Dowsing Chain.

“Was this your sole intention in Odinse before I captured you? Answer yes or no.”

“Yes.”

Kuroro had found a Nen exorcist in Odinse who unfortunately was incapable of lifting Kurapika’s Curse. He could not separate foreign Nen from someone else’s body unless it was slowly eating the victim alive like a poison. Kurapika’s Chain was not malignant, just incredibly debilitating. Kuroro wasn’t even looking for an exorcist, and he was not very excited about his future battle with Hisoka so it was accurate to say he had no other plans in Odinse.

The chain remained still. Kuroro smiled as he looked straight into Kurapika’s lighter grey eyes. Kurapika was trying to read his mind, but he was missing the right language to go any further. The Kuruta dismissed the chain to concentrate on Kuroro. The man was infuriating: Kuroro was not giving him any tangible reasons to hate him. He was making jokes about the ridiculous situation Kurapika had put them in, not about Kurapika himself. He was well-mannered, cooperative, not openly condescending. _Alright, he’s being quite respectful._ Too much for Kurapika’s sanity. It made _him_ seem cruel and cold. Even though no one was watching, Kurapika despised Kuroro for giving him the bad role of the tormentor.

In short Kurapika could not help but envy him. Kuroro was at Kurapika’s mercy and yet he seemed content with his life, in control, relaxed. He was weird, but he was somewhat the incarnation of the role model Kurapika never had. Kurapika was convinced that his own blond hair gave him a baby face, and it wasn’t just his hair: he was a kid thrown into an adult world. He just felt and sometimes even looked insecure. Kuroro had perfected his appearance to become every idiot girl’s crush, while he would always remain the cute little brother. Kurapika just wanted to shatter Kuroro’s smile. _Just because I’m jealous. There._ He was aware of his immature thoughts and would proudly assume the responsibility. What made it worse was that the smile was directed at him. Kuroro was taunting him, that was for sure. What really unnerved Kurapika was that he was being treated like the countless girls this guy— _urgh forget about it_. He just wanted to break that smile. Make it disappear. Never to be seen again.

He knew what Kuroro wanted... He was looking at it right now.

Kurapika announced: “You’re expecting there to be a pair of Scarlet Eyes.”

oooooo o oooooo

Kuroro was pleased: Kurapika had so much potential. The Last Kuruta was his masterpiece. He had waited a long time to meet him casually in person; because to Kuroro, this was indeed a casual meeting. Kuroro widened his eyes further to admire him, but Kurapika didn’t flinch. Deep inside, the blonde knew all too well what Kuroro was thinking. He absorbed the admiration but reclaimed his merit: Kuroro had only destroyed, not created.

“You think I would go through this much trouble for a pair of Scarlet Eyes?”

Kurapika was waiting for him to acknowledge or deny his conclusion.

The Kuruta spoke up: “You are expecting a pair.”

Kuroro searched Kurapika’s eyes for signs of doubt. The light grey eyes were cold and defensive. It only seduced Kuroro to push the attack further; so he lightly nodded. Kurapika was breathing heavily as he took in the realization. The Kuruta was so much fun to play with.

“More than just one, Kurapika.”

Back then Lucifer had wanted every last pair of Kuruta Eyes and he had ordered his Spiders to take them all. Was it greed? Could it be seen as part of a work ethic? Kuroro would not settle for anything less than perfection, at least in the Latin sense of the word. Finish the job at hand.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage? Haven’t you meddled enough in my clan’s affairs? Why do you want the Eyes?”

Kuroro liked the Kuruta’s attitude. It had been years since anyone had dared speak to him with such defiance and not just empty threats. To Kuroro the last question was uninteresting. The first two sunk down to evaluate his deepest motives. They were like the question of the little spiky-haired boy clad in green. Gon was it?

‘How can you kill people who have no connection with you?’

Fascinating. Kurapika was just like his little friend. Kuroro smiled. He wondered if all ‘normal’ people thought like them. The Kuruta was getting impatient.

“Answer me!”

“I like the color. That’s probably the reason we killed your clansmen.”

Kurapika lashed out with the Dowsing Chain. Kuroro caught it inches away from his nose. He was not done teasing Kurapika.

“They look great. Don’t you agree?”

Kuroro smiled. Kurapika’s Scarlet Eyes had activated. Kuroro would have to tread carefully if he didn’t want to get hit by a full blown Nen attack. He had attained his objective: the boy’s eyes seemed to glow in the dim artificial light of the room. Lucifer felt something pull at his left hand; the urge to encircle the Kuruta’s neck and to scare the lights out of the blonde as his fingers exerted slightly too much pressure on his pale skin. Then he would slide his right hand into the boy’s hair and stop tormenting him; observe his candid relief and confusion—and gently play with his blond hair.

Kuroro realized he had never felt this way for his victims before. Yes, Kurapika was his victim. Usually, he was completely detached from the look on their face, at best, disgusted by their person. But now, Kuroro wasn’t tempted to kill or to hurt Kurapika, just play with him.

oooooo o oooooo

**Flawed Perfectionists**

“Be the flame not the moth.”

— Giacomo Casanova

oo o oo

Kurapika’s vision blurred and focused again; he was staring into Kuroro’s midnight eyes. Lucifer wanted to see his Kuruta legacy, the Scarlet Eyes, on command! Kurapika felt a symphony of negative emotions rise from the stained soil of his village. Lucifer was trying to reduce Kurapika to the value of a pair of lifeless Kuruta Eyes, and while Kurapika knew the exorbitant price the red jewels lifted, he hated the man for looking at him as if he was an artefact. Then he realized Kuroro could well be calculating the sum he could obtain for Kurapika, alive, or dead, or in pieces. It was sickening. The Kuruta’s aura curled and tensed, ready to explode at Kuroro’s next move.

Kuroro’s big eyes did nothing to make him look less eerie. He looked slightly down at the Kuruta, his dark eyes wide. Kurapika had seen him do that before, so he knew it wasn’t the darkness. On the other hand, that was assuming Kuroro did not usually live in darkness, which was yet to be determined. His eyes were like open mouths lined with sharp teeth, consuming everything that came in sight. That Lucifer did not need to touch something to sully it; his gaze alone was too much to bear. What disgusted Kurapika further was the slight expression of awe on Kuroro’s face. It felt as though Kuroro was admiring himself in the Scarlet Eyes.

Kurapika had a conviction that no sinner was beyond salvation. If only he could get Kuroro to transform into another person, Lucifer would be dead for good, but it wasn’t that easy. This guy was a demiurge as far as egotistic destruction was concerned. If only Kuroro had been less infuriating, Kurapika would have considered showing him compassion, just because with such an attitude, Kuroro was guaranteed never to have experienced it first-hand.

Kurapika wrenched the chain from Kuroro’s hand and the man’s fingers started bleeding. He had used too much force. _Urgh why is he so delicate without Nen?_ It looked like Kurapika was an obtuse brute. _And he didn’t even complain!_ The dignity with which he received Kurapika’s rage did nothing to calm the Kuruta.

Would Kurapika’s idealism prevent him from killing the murderer? Of course not. Sweet, sweet revenge remained an option at every instant. One punch could well be the end of the leader of the Phantom Troupe. Kurapika was simply training his cold-blooded self-control. Wasting away the life of Kuroro Lucifer was on his to-do list but he had priorities. For a Blacklist Hunter, it was of critical importance to understand his target’s mindset and motivations. Executing Kuroro before collecting that information would be a wasted opportunity to advance the hunt for the remaining Geneiryodan members.

“I will ask you once more. Why do you want the Eyes?”

“Assuming you want a different answer, of course. You could consider acquiring the Eyes as taking a position in the asset like in a currency. You demonstrate a clear interest in them. Seeing this is a zero-sum game with the number of pairs predetermined, I thought I’d further invest in _your_ game.”

Kurapika was smart. Kuroro trusted the boy to understand he already had Scarlet Eyes in his possession.

“If you think the pairs you have your hands on will deter me from killing you, you don’t understand my abilities.”

“I never envisaged to use them for my defense. I was purely answering your question.”

Kuroro had been collecting Scarlet Eyes for strategic reasons. At least he wasn’t splurging his money on them like the wealthy who got a pair for lack of better use of their money, but this also meant the Eyes would be harder to recover. Kurapika had fallen silent.

“Kurapika, can you hear their ghosts?”

Kuroro was referring to the Kuruta Clan. Kuroro’s expression had changed. He looked like a concerned friend who wanted to know more about the private life of his peer. Kurapika was about to answer when he stopped dead in his tracks. Kuroro was an excellent manipulator. None of his facial expressions were to be deemed genuine. The best defense strategy was an attack that would distance him from Lucifer.

“You are so weird.”

“I know.”

Kuroro finally looked down, away from Kurapika’s irises. The lack of aura around the man was making Kurapika uneasy. It was like standing next to a corpse.

Kurapika was satisfied with the information Kuroro had freely given him. Kurapika turned on his heels and left Kuroro alone in his cell. He switched off the light. Lucifer had tried to treat him like a child. Letting the insulting attitude of objectification slide off of his body like rainwater was the most dignified action Kurapika could think of.

oooooo o oooooo

Kuroro was reminded of the days before it had occurred to him that Nen abilities could be stolen. He was young and completely crazy in that former life. He had spent those years getting locked up, tortured for information, then he would escape, do something crazy, and get captured by the next group, attached, chained, or just left alone in a room much like this, and another cycle would begin.

Once some idiots locked him up in a cold storage room. _That was memorable._ When they came to torture him, Kuroro had lost all sense of touch or nociception. His body had suffered unnatural treatments, but it was not painful. Kuroro laughed at the memory. Years later, he decided to enhance his fur coat with Nen. Those temperatures were to be avoided at all cost.

Kuroro sat back down where he had felt comfortable. His body had been destroyed more than once. Even with the help of a Healer’s Nen, the traces of some injuries had remained apparent. His spine had been heavily affected quite early on, then repaired in a sense, but there were points where the severed nerves had stayed too close to the surface. Touching him there would force an uncontrollable reflex and unmediated pain. Of course this would never happen because no one would ever find out. Kuroro looked left and right. And regardless, it wasn’t a weakness as long as he tensed the superficial muscles covering the ghost injury. His broken nose had never completely healed either. Kuroro was self-conscious about it, but he was certain not a soul knew about it.

In the dark, there was no way to know if his body was indeed closed and complete. He usually relied on Nen and visual evidence. He pressed his hand against his face, over his nose, touching his forehead with his fingertips. Then he joined his fingers. He wasn’t bleeding anymore. It was nothing but superficial scratches.

He could breathe, he was in no physical pain except for his aching heart. That Judgement Chain was influencing his heart rate and it made Kuroro feel extreme inner emotions for no reason. It was as if he was being haunted, or watched; he felt worthless, and great, but he also kind of felt in love, or rather he was heart-broken. All because the Chain Assassin was in close proximity. It was entertaining but it distracted him from thinking.

He had underestimated Kurapika once. This was his chance to evaluate his enemy’s strengths and find his weaknesses. Once he was well-informed, he could leave.

_There is much more to Kurapika than meets the eye._ He thought, no pun intended. _Pun intended._ The Kuruta was one of a kind, and not just because he was the last of his kind. Kurapika had a traumatic history on which he had built a tower of ideals, but he was not blindly defending the structure. Instead, he continued to develop many other skills and interests. This could be seen through his professional choices. The Kuruta considered himself a Blacklist Hunter but he worked as a bodyguard for some of the greatest Mafiosi of the time. His objectives were alive and well while he learned to navigate the criminal world he was aiming to arrest and dismantle. Kuroro admired the mental strength this plan required. He had not been so skilled. How old did Shalnark say Kurapika was? Seventeen? About the same age he was when he had founded the Phantom Troupe.

 

Outside, security guards crowded around the infrared monitor showing the strange man who pensively muttered under his breath in the dark room into unholy hours. The guards put their heads together like an investigation team. The bandage he wore on his forehead surely had the purpose of concealing something. His dark eyes dominated the room instead of betraying fear.

Finally a guard spoke up: “Is that...?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are ghosts? Can Kuroro or Kurapika see ghosts?
> 
> Share a passage you liked! ^^


	4. Little Bleeding Bug Hurts Human Heart

**FLAWED PERFECTIONISTS  
** **The Fallen Angel and the Last Kuruta**

**A Bookstore, A Basement, and Two Post-Apocalyptic Survivors**

**Chapter 4**

**Little Bleeding Bug Hurts Human Heart**

Kurapika was watching the never-ending catastrophes and conflicts on the news. The blurred amateur videos, analytic diagrams, and reporters with serious faces were upside-down. His head was on the edge of the couch, his legs over the back-rest, and his arms sprawled on either side. Kurapika often sat upside-down after using his Scarlet Eyes. Contrary to expectation, his so-called red headaches receded more quickly when his brain was flooded in blood.

His desk phone rang. Wasn’t he supposed to be on leave? He grumbled, got up, and answered the phone.

“Is this an emergency?” he asked in a flat tone of voice. He was about to hang up.

“Kurapika.” It was the boss himself.

“Sir.” The TV remained audible in the background.

“I need you. Specifically. Now.”

“Understood.”

Kurapika hung up and walked himself through the possibilities in order to prepare psychologically. A catastrophic failure of one of Arilyubov’s agreements. An attempt at assassination? That was unlikely. Kurapika had written procedures for these things. Lucifer. Kurapika clutched his chest. To his relief, his Judgement Chain had not shifted or pierced the heart it held below, but then the blonde wondered why he felt this way. It was a sign that Kuroro had not escaped from the cell, and that Kurapika was not being called to deal with a mess.

In any case, his vacation was over. He turned off the television, grabbed his keys and weapons, and set out. There was no time to change into his black suit.

Kurapika went directly from his room to the headquarters, which were in the same building. He knocked on the door to Mister Konstantin Arilyubov’s office, typed a code into a wall panel, waited for clearance, and entered. A bodyguard unknown to Kurapika greeted the blonde, and handed Kurapika an electronic card to access the oligarch’s personal quarters. So it wasn’t an external emergency, but rather something relating to Kurapika himself.

“Am I going to be executed?” Kurapika asked the guard in a bored voice. He always sounded bored after seeing red. It was as if the world went dull and quiet after the Scarlet intensity.

“I don’t really know, sorry kid.”

Kurapika looked at the bodyguard from the corner of his eye. He had not hired him personally. This clueless guy didn’t even know Kurapika was several chains of command above him. The bodyguard reached out to pat Kurapika on the shoulder for comfort, but Kurapika was quick to shield himself from the patronizing gesture by showing his professional ID. The poor guard saw his prospects for promotion fly before his eyes and he tried to save himself from the wrath of his superior by bowing low in apology.

“Excuse me, Sir! I was not aware!”

Kurapika left, exasperated: he felt like his appearance had let him down once more. Was it because he was short? No. 170 cm wasn’t short, was it? It was definitely the innocence in his overall look. But what could he do to change that? Was it his earring? He would never give up his Kuruta heritage. People would just have to wait and see when he grew just a bit older.

Kurapika entered the opulence and luxury which constituted his boss’ apartments. As prime bodyguard, he knew where to go. He knocked and pushed the doors to the inside office. Two bodyguards were stationed to flank the Kuruta on either side. Kurapika hadn’t finished bowing when Arilyubov spoke.

“Kurapika, I was informed that you were seen with Lucifer.”

Kurapika straightened up and remained silent according to etiquette. The man was incredulous:

“What the hell? He’s really alive?”

“That information is correct.”

“He’s here?”

“You personally delegated to me the authority to act unilaterally. I have him locked up and disarmed. The situation has to be evaluated before action can be taken.”

“He was the leader of the Phantom Troupe.”

“He still is the current leader and I am aware of the mafia’s conflict with him.”

“But! They’re dead!” Wasn’t the Spider wiped out?

Kurapika did not respond to his boss’ interjection. If the world found out about the fake bodies, the media would quickly find its way to Arilyubov’s front door, and Kurapika would have no choice but to deal with them.

“Kurapika, pick up the phone. I want you to contact the relevant people.” He paused to look into the eyes of his underling. “Get rid of him. Hand him over.” Arilyubov did not know what else to do with an individual of Kuroro’s breed. To let others deal with him sounded like a perfectly sensible option.

“He’s under my authority.” Kurapika felt two auras intensify behind him as soon as his Chains appeared on his right hand. He covered them with his left and patted them away to avoid making a threatening gesture. He threw the two bodyguards an apologetic look to assure them his move was unintentional. “Mister Arilyubov, with my unchanging respect for you, Sir, I must insist. He’s mine. I defeated him alone. I will resign from my job if I must go against your direct orders.”

Konstantin Arilyubov was not expecting this.

“I will not sit here waiting for the actual Phantom Troupe to barge into my estate. Hand him over or dispose of him, and of the body.”

Wasn’t the Phantom Troupe dead? How had Kurapika captured Lucifer? Thousands of professionals were after him, the Ten Dons had even hired two Zoldyck assassins, yet the problem persisted. Was Kurapika that strong? It was probably another Nen thing beyond his grasp. Arilyubov congratulated himself on hiring such a skilled bodyguard for such a low salary. However, like all cheap services, he was posing problems. Had Kurapika not been irreplaceable, he would have fired the boy.

“Lucifer is dangerous. You should kill him while you have the chance.”

“I know my trade. He’s not a new enemy.”

“I want a report.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“With the Nen.”

“Yes, with the Nen. Sir, Lucifer is disarmed. By that I mean he has no Nen at all.”

“You said everyone has a little Nen,” Arilyubov waved his hand in circles, looking for the words Kurapika had used to explain it, “life energy.”

“You are right. Lucifer has nothing left, I took away his Nen.”

“First of all, how did this happen? And second, isn’t that unnatural?”

“I used a special ability on him and indeed, he feels unnaturally like a corpse. If I may be excused, Sir, I have a vacation to resume, not to mention a certain prisoner to deal with.”

The last words were tainted with exasperation. Kurapika sounded like an overworked dad who was alluding to an attention-seeking kid. The boy had discarded Arilyubov’s advice, but he had explained some Nen things. Arilyubov was content: Kurapika had not even obtained a raise and that was all that mattered to the mafioso.

oo o oo

Kurapika walked down the first corridor to the sea. At the corner, the temperature dropped slightly and sent a chill up his back. Kurapika took a left in the hallway.

_“Kurapika.”_

The voice was a whisper. Kurapika increased his walking speed. His body was releasing adrenaline into his veins to over perform athletically in the face of danger. Let it do something physical, then.

_“Kurapika.”_

“What?” Kurapika muttered through clenched teeth. He was not far from his room.

_“I’m so proud of you.”_

Kurapika pulled at his crimson earring. He turned another corner and opened the door to his room as quickly as possible.

“Father?” The blonde called into his room.

Kurapika searched for his voice. Whenever he tried to listen, he would find memories, stored deep within: words of his past that would whisper to him.

_“You really have character, to have talked in such a bold way. You’re quite like your —”_

“Mother, I know,” Kurapika answered as he slouched against his door.

_“What are you going to do with him?”_ Kurapika’s father had asked this many times about animals Kurapika had brought home, but this time, he was referring to Lucifer.

“I’ll figure something out.”

_“No, I want you to tell me what you’re going to do.”_

“I want to know what happened.” Kurapika’s voice got caught in sorrow. “I need to know.”

Kurapika pushed himself off his front door to go sit on the couch. Tears appeared in his eyes.

_Family members were sat down facing each other. They were stabbed multiple times and had their heads severed while still alive,_ went the newspaper report. Kurapika groaned and shook his head.

The blonde had imagined his father would have wanted Kurapika never to find out about the Phantom Troupe. Kurapika’s father had been somewhat of a gentle traditionalist and Kurapika knew in his heart that he had gone against his father’s will the moment he set out on his quest for revenge.

_“Are you feeling alright?”_

Kurapika shook his head to dismiss the horror, then nodded.

“I’m fine.”

_“Get started on your homework, then, young man.”_

Kurapika cheered up. His homework. What was his homework? Kurapika’s good mood dispersed when he deduced that his brain was reminding him to write the report for Arilyubov.

Kurapika needed courage to confront the issue, so he thought back on his journey in the outside world which he would have to tell Pairo about in detail: at first he had had no hope to win against the Gen'ei Ryodan, but then he realized he had nothing to lose and all hell broke loose. Kurapika was stronger now, strong enough to set things right.

_Set things right,_ he mumbled, echoing his thoughts in mocking parody. Kurapika started writing the report on his computer. He gave the information he had collected, detailing Lucifer’s response to elevators and to the security check, and to the darkness. Kurapika wrote down safety procedures about the Istridsen auction, and added to the top of the document ‘no apparent link found to Arilyubov. Situation to be investigated.’

Kurapika continued the account.

‘Prisoner is interested in an artifact named ‘Scarlet Eyes’. Wants as many extant copies as possible. The artifact is needed by myself, for Nen reasons. The ‘Eyes’ are most probably a means to deepen the preexisting conflict between Lucifer and myself.’

Thinking about the eyes of his clansmen, it occurred to Kurapika that he could probably obtain autopsy pictures on the Hunter website with his Licence. But if he had the photographs, would he have the heart to look at them? Probably not. Kurapika logged in and inserted his Licence.

“Information about Kuroro Lucifer,” asked the blonde.

“200 000 jenny.”

“Wait a minute,” Kurapika said to the barman.

Why pay for superficial, irrelevant, or even useless information on the Hunter website when he could just ask Kuroro himself? The blonde left the website.

Kurapika sat in his couch and took a pile of post-it notes to prepare his questions. It was nearly impossible to picture himself asking questions politely to the murderer of his parents. In fact, he felt like the appropriate course of action was to rush into the cell and punch the man to death. Kurapika sat back and breathed slowly to regain his composure. No, it was his duty to recover information so that such a horror would never happen again. He needed to know every single detail about the crimes committed that night. Or day; maybe it happened in broad daylight. He needed Kuroro Lucifer to acknowledge his actions. Why did the Spider bring death upon such a peaceful tribe? How could someone even devise such a nightmare? And what monster was cruel enough to execute such an idea? He would ask to know what happened on that fateful day of... the massacre. Kurapika promised himself to hear Lucifer out before doing anything violent. Once they were done talking, maybe he’d lose it.

Kurapika wanted to hit something to let off steam, but he contented himself by putting down the pen and blank post-its with slightly too much force. He got up, grabbed his keys, and ran out. His hair was already a mess when he saw his reflection, and he hadn’t even confronted Kuroro yet.

Only in the elevator did Kurapika realize he had no food with him for Lucifer. Oh well, if he starved to death... he would starve to death, ridding the planet of one more Spider.

Kurapika followed the same route to the cell. Guards peered at him as if he was a lit flame burning into the darkness. Kurapika paid them no attention. His heels echoed down the hallway where the air became scarcer as he proceeded.

He authorized access to the cell and switched on the light, blinding Kuroro temporarily. Lucifer stood up, his arms crossed to avoid heat loss.

“Good day. I don’t have a clue what time it is, sorry.” Kuroro squinted and brought his hand up to cover his eyes.

“Kuroro Lucifer, I am here for answers. I demand to know what happened five years ago in the Lukso forest.” _And if I still have the sanity to listen to you after that, I want you to tell me about your life, in detail._

Kuroro smiled. “There were thirteen Spiders and a hundred or so Kurutas.”

“One hundred and twenty-eight,” Kurapika corrected, “and you killed them all.”

“I didn’t kill them all. If you do the math, I must have killed a dozen or so.”

Kurapika’s Eyes activated. His body threw a punch before thinking, and his fist planted itself into the concrete. Kuroro was forced to dodge because his body would not have been able to withstand a blow like that.

“Is it in my interest to answer your questions?” Kuroro asked honestly. “Or do you want me to remain silent?”

Kurapika caught his breath. Kuroro was very close, apparently willing to take the risk of losing his life to Kurapika’s anger.

“Do you understand what you did to me?” asked the Kuruta.

Kuroro closed his eyes. _I really don’t care. And you’re getting really emotional. Better watch out before you do something careless._

Kurapika zeroed in on the raven-haired man. “Go on. Tell me what happened,” Kurapika encouraged as if he were taunting his enemy to fight him.

“We took the Eyes at their brightest from the living Kurutas, then we beheaded them.”

“I know! I know that! How did you take the Eyes?”

“I don’t remember. With a blunt knife or something like that. Why do you ask?”

Kurapika grabbed Lucifer by the neck. Kuroro blinked, and he found his heart transported in that split second to an open sky of perfect peace and freedom. For that split second, Kuroro felt like he had enough time to enjoy life, free of concerns. The Judgement Chain softened its silver grip to allow its prisoner to live the scene appearing in his mind.

In the blissful vision, Kuroro stared down at handwritten pages in a leather-bound book. He almost got tears in his eyes when he recognized his handwriting. This was a collection of all the embarrassing things he liked to dream about when he was alone. The sight of his young dreams distracted him thoroughly enough that he did not notice the Kuruta sneaking up on him and taking the book straight out of his hands. Kurapika stole a glance at the open page as he distanced himself from the young man with straight black hair. Kuroro was a bit surprised for being in such a weak position, having to run after the happy blonde to stop him from discovering all the abominations which he was planning on taking to the grave, but then his own teenage voice broke in the middle of his order to return his property. This really was the end of his reputation, not that he had one, but still. The raven-haired boy gave up running and stood in shock as his secrets were read like an open book; in the open book, which he had written.

The blonde finally looked up into his eyes and Kuroro was washed over by a wave of serenity. Kurapika’s expression filled his heart with hope and with renewed life. The blond boy… liked what he saw in that book. With a grin devoid of malice or mockery, he showed Kuroro a page with a diagram of a castle… on a cloud. Kurapika’s finger pointed to it with excitement and curiosity. “Where?” he asked.

Kuroro’s deep memories resurfaced like creatures from the abyss. He had a feeling that he had asked the same naive question a long time ago. Kuroro had wanted to know which way to escape and to explore this castle in the sky. Kurapika was just like him. At last Kuroro felt; no, he knew that he had found someone who could understand!

Kuroro did not resist at all when the blonde closed his fingers around his enemy's neck. This pulled the leader of the Phantom Troupe back to reality. He had to think fast. Kurapika got close to the Spider head and yelled back.

“You— you destroyed my life!”

“You could thank me. Look where you are now, your clan would have prevented you from developing your potential.”

Was that right? Was Kurapika’s destiny to become a strong Nen user? He looked so cute and fluffy—uhhh… nice. What did he do to get choked like this? What was destiny anyway?

Kurapika imperceivably shook his head.

“You are going straight to hell after I’m done with you.”

This time Kuroro had gone too far too soon. What could Kurapika do to him that Kuroro could not take?

“When did you find out? I literally own the place. I can show you around if you like.”

Kurapika wanted to crush his neck but he punched the concrete next to Kuroro’s head instead. The wall exploded in their faces.

“You did unspeakable things to the Kuruta Clan.”

“Well, we were discussing the issue, but apparently you do not grasp the concept of verbal communica—”

Kuroro made a sound in between a groan and a heavy breath. Kurapika had lowered his Nen before punching him. The blonde was furious that Kuroro had not even blocked his attack. His Eyes grew brighter as hundreds of strands of red tensed in his iris.

Kuroro half fell against the wall from the blow, before standing back up. He caught his breath and looked at the beautiful Kuruta to behold the workings of Kurapika’s Nen. Cold chains materialized around Kuroro’s body. They were invisible, but Kuroro could picture them in his mind’s eye. Dainty silver chains like spider silk, glinting in the darkness and capturing him in the familiar manner he knew from a few months prior. It was not such a bad feeling, being held in place like this.

“Is there one thing you have not done to your victims!?”

The chains slowly constricted.

“Oh I have standards. You know me quite poorly, Kuruta. Aren’t you a Pro Hunter?” Kurapika willed his ability to wring the air out of Lucifer’s lungs, along with his insolence. “I would expect —you to be more systematic in —your —investigations. You’re still young,—so it’s understandable—that you work on—impulse.”

In the end, Kuroro had trouble breathing.

“You think you’re above everybody else.”

“Maybe.”

Kurapika could hear Kuroro was smiling at the pain. He sounded quite uncomfortable. Kuroro’s eyes were riveted on the blond hair masking the Kuruta’s glowing red eyes. Kurapika was noticeably shorter than Kuroro, and he was looking down in disbelief.

“You have no respect for fellow human beings.”

This was a whisper of Kurapika’s heart. Kuroro did not let it echo: he tried to hold the chains open long enough to finish his argument.

“Universal equality arose as an invention of Christianity to appeal to the masses. Anthropocentrism is also a subjective man-made construct.”

Kurapika lit up Kuroro’s face with his Scarlet Eyes. He spoke loudly and clearly.

“Humans feel sympathy and empathy for beings which are similar to them. You have no feelings for other people?”

Kuroro grinned.

“Not by default.”

“I’ll have to teach you then.”

“You’ll fix me,” mocked the serial killer.

“Pre-cisely. You’re intelligent, Kuroro. I’m sure you can learn good behavior in due time.”

The chains softened their grip again.

“Do you have feelings for me?”

“You’re a special case, Kuroro.”

“Oh! How so? Do tell me in which delightful way I’m _special_.”

Kurapika conjured the best pedagogical smile he had. Kuroro was making fun of him and Kurapika had no choice but to communicate his feelings through physical strength. The chains tightened further and Kuroro’s smile was washed away as his eyes lifted up towards sea level. He was drowning.

“You killed my mother and my father. And every last member of my family. And every person I knew and loved. I just feel like killing you in return. However, I’m sure you’ve noticed, I have not done so yet.”

Kuroro could not speak anymore; the chains were crushing him. He was underwater.

“Because however infuriating, disgusting, useless, and dangerous a person can be, murder is not a solution. Destroying you is not good enough!”

Kurapika held Kuroro with Chain Jail for another minute, each second answering his thirst for violence. When he let go of him, Kuroro simply fell to the floor and started bleeding.

Kurapika felt like a child who had played too roughly with a small insect. It was not moving. He felt a little guilty, but powerful. He hoped the bug would be back on its feet the following day to play again. If it wasn’t, well, there were plenty more to be caught out there. Kurapika left, victorious but disgusted, mostly by himself.

 

Kurapika looked at himself in the elevator mirror. With every passing year, he grew to resemble his mother. Or maybe his memory of her appearance was receding and he was reconstructing it using his own face. It didn’t matter; she was still there in his heart. Nothing could take her from Kurapika, right? As long as he had his memories, he would have the strength to live on.

With no eyes to see, she would certainly listen to her son’s explanation of the sounds she heard in the cell, or rather the silencing of the other voice. She had scolded Kurapika many times throughout his childhood for getting into fights. Kurapika had to learn to resolve conflicts with a non-violent approach.

Kurapika chuckled. He would have liked to hear her say that about the _conflict_ with Kuroro. Kurapika knew his mother’s advice was meant for the boy, not for the Blacklist Hunter, but still he felt like he had gone against her will. What did she know? Had she even seen Kuroro before dying? Had she even heard his voice? Surely she would understand!

Kuroro did not look evil per se. His voice was actually nice. It was his aura which was unmistakably hell-bound. Kurapika’s mother must have felt Kuroro Lucifer’s Nen, which wasn’t even his own to begin with. It was like zombie Nen; dead and severed parts ripped from their owners, sewn together and controlled to do unnatural things. Kurapika shivered at the idea of Kuroro touching his mother, his aura all around her. In fact he was shivering at the memory of being inside Lucifer’s En range before having captured him in York Shin.

As soon as he was back in his room, Kurapika washed his hands. He had done just fine. He was the victim for goodness’ sake! What was with all the introspective scrutiny and criticism?

 

Kurapika found some comfort in the familiar feeling of hunger, which called his thoughts back to himself. It wasn’t even hunger, but an appetite, rather. And the feeling meant that food would taste really good. As a boy living in the forest of Lukso, Kurapika had only rarely seen seafood. Fish was always present once a year at the summer banquet, but real seafood had remained mysterious and unattainable for the young Kuruta. It was reserved for the adults, like all the other food from the outside world.

Kurapika opened the freezer. It was stacked full of frozen jumbo shrimp, squid and octopus of all sizes, king scallops, clams, mussels, and other shellfish. Kurapika grabbed one of the bags promising instant reward and emptied it on a plate which he shoved into the microwave oven.

He found sleep that night. He hadn’t suffered too much from nightmares recently and his negative emotions had been unloaded onto Kuroro, so simple Nen exhaustion claimed the young Kuruta who curled up into a ball in his bed. He was safe up there. His duty was to deal intelligently with Kuroro, that is, _if_ he was still alive.

oooooo o oooooo

Down below, if it had not been for the worst orientation, Kuroro would not have woken up. He was cold. He tried to move but he felt sticky for some reason. The smell of his own blood; Kuroro knew it like no other. He liked it because it was soft and red and salty, but it was not something he ever looked forward to smelling. He wasn’t a masochist. It was dry, and he didn’t remember suffering cranial trauma, so he could go straight back to sleep.

_So Kurapika thinks he can teach me to care about the pathetic fate of others? Right now, I barely care about my own._ Kuroro was not exactly optimistic about the outcome.

Pain was asking for his attention, and he was starting to feel hunger after a couple days, but he could sleep with it. He turned north because it was impossible for him to sleep in the east-west orientation which had woken him up. In hotels, it had often happened that the bed was turned wrong. Originally, he had thought he was just not able to sleep from stress, because he'd wake up having turned excessive angles. He would have dreams of swimming or drowning then finally he would give up and sink, which was when he woke up. The solution was to turn north. Kuroro hadn't dreamed about water ever since he had figured it out. He was indeed weird.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is the vision Kuroro has? Why does it happen? Any theories?
> 
> How did you like Kuroro's honest answers to Kurapika's burning questions?


	5. The Boy With No Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Chapter of Kuroro's Past

**FLAWED PERFECTIONISTS  
** **The Fallen Angel and the Last Kuruta**

**A Bookstore, A Basement, and Two Post-Apocalyptic Survivors**

**Chapter 5**

**The Boy With No Face**

A boy ran up and down the piles of garbage of Shooting Star City, a book in his hand. His name was Kuroro. He laughed and laughed, throwing the book up in the air and catching it. He had found shoes for himself which fit and now the odd ends of metal detritus were only slashing through the skin of his legs, but he didn't care, it would heal. He had just stolen a book from three unarmed adults, and his swiftness guaranteed his escape. They had thrown stones at him at first but they didn't follow. Kuroro paused when he reached the top of a hill, stretched both his arms in victory as the crows and the ravens took flight from under his feet.

The orange light of the sun was almost visible through the smog. It was a beautiful day to the boy's standards: breathable. Kuroro inhaled and immediately bent over, coughing. He took a first peek at the yellow pages. There were little black drawings all over. Kuroro had never learned to read, in fact he had never seen a letter with the knowledge it was a writing symbol before. He held onto the leather cover with his grimy left hand, which was cleaner than his right, and started running down the hill. The thrill of flying like these birds, of having this book, of being free as the wind, made him scream with joy, before coughing again until his face turned red. A man appeared out of the junk and greeted him with a smile in a language Kuroro understood.

"That's the first proper book I've seen since I got here."

Kuroro gripped the book close to his heart like treasure, bent over, staring into the stranger's eyes, and picked up a metal bar with his right hand. The long object must have weighed as much as a full-sized fridge. The man went pale at this show of superhuman strength and the boy threatened to kill him. The poor man raised his hands in useless defense over his head.

"Woah, I'm sorry, please don't— How the hell did you do that?"

It seemed Kuroro didn't understand him. Kuroro let the bar fall to the side and got going.

"Hey, kid, how did you do that? Who are you?"

Kuroro halted. "Do you have food?" he asked to the wind.

"Uh yes."

Kuroro aggressively turned to him. "Give me some." The man immediately grabbed the rest of a packaged loaf of sliced bread form under his torn coat and presented it with outstretched arms. The bread was moldy. Kuroro came down to see. "You must be new here."

"How can you tell?"

"You asked 'Who are you?'. Nobody does that." Kuroro grabbed the bread. "And nobody gives up their food freely."

The man could have answered that he had responded to the boy's threat and he had been given as much choice as when he 'freely' decided to emigrate to Shooting Star City over immediate execution in his home country.

"May I see the book, please?"

"Can you read?" the boy asked. The man nodded and Kuroro handed him the book. "What's in it?" the black-haired boy asked as he ate a slice whole, mold and all.

"I can't read the language. It's foreign to me."

Kuroro stretched out his hand for the book.

"But I can teach you how to read," the man offered. Kuroro was young enough for him to assume he was illiterate.

"Why would you do that?"

"I don't know. We could be friends." He handed back the book.

"Do you live here?" Kuroro inquired, then he coughed heavily.

"Yes. I sleep there. I got the bread from the shore."

"That's dangerous. Don't go there. It's dangerous here too. You shouldn't stay here." Kuroro coughed again.

"How else do you get food, then?"

"The birds. You trap them or eat the dead ones."

Kuroro turned and resumed his journey home without saying goodbye or thank you.

"Hey, kid! Can I come with you?" The man grabbed all his stuff and started to follow. "My name's Canny."

"That's not a name," the kid shot back.

"What's yours?"

"Kuroro. It means black or something. Black as death, black as silk."

"Silk is not black."

"Spider silk."

"Spider silk is white, or transparent."

"You've never seen a spiderweb."

In Shooting Star City, spiderwebs quickly turned black because of air pollution.

"I have!"

Kuroro had a friend. They exchanged stuff and food; helped each other out. Kuroro's friend had been a militant member of the political opposition party in his country. A young and learned person sent to his death. Canny told Kuroro about the outside world. Kuroro pointed out the pragmatic reality of life in Shooting Star City. No escape was possible. The borders with legitimate countries were guarded. Any trespassers were shot systematically. He had seen it with his own eyes.

Canny had just enough time left to instruct Kuroro in the skill of reading printed text. Canny died of the ambient poisoning. His last words to Kuroro had been political.

"Now you can read, see the world for yourself. Human societies oppress their own members to perpetrate political and social hierarchies. There is nothing moral to the establishment. There is only power. Show them their own contradictions. Go out and wreak havoc for me."

Kuroro felt disappointment at the death of his only friend. He had done everything to keep him alive, and… well he died. Kuroro stared blankly into the empty eyes, taunting death to frighten him, or to come to him, so that he could drive his claws into the black angel which lived in his shadow. A tear rolled down Kuroro's cheek and the raven-haired boy sighed. Canny had nothing on him which Kuroro could take. Completely useless. Kuroro punched his fist in his other hand, struggling with the feeling that he was a failure. Kuroro took a moment to cry, then got up to gather scraps to build a fire.

How old was Kuroro? The boy felt left behind, with people dying all around him, it sometimes felt like he was the last survivor of the past. It was terribly lonely in the expanse of waste under the dirty sun. Sometimes he wondered why he was alive; why he hadn't died yet. He was stronger than most, but everyone in Meteor City was close to death, so that went without saying. Kuroro pushed his hair out of his face. Had Meteor City been created with a purpose? A prison of the size of a national park to hold dangerous criminals like endangered animals. Or was Shooting Star an accident? Some exclusion zone left over from a man-made catastrophe.

Kuroro had a suspicion that nobody cared at all and in fact the entirety of Ryuuseigai had arisen out of human neglect. Was this really a place of punishment or was Ryuuseigai just a momentous heap of trash? Kuroro looked into the distance.

Was he also a piece of trash?

He felt something break inside of him, and the boy coughed, hoping to make the feeling go away. What had he done to deserve his fate? Nothing. The dark-haired boy was still under the illusion that fate and merit were related. Kuroro didn't remember doing a single wrong thing in his life. Killing others by slitting their throats was only natural if they came too close.

The boy wandered the wastes as he did not feel like staying put. As the orange sun crawled under the earth, frost started eating away at everything. At first the cold nibbled, then its horrible teeth came out. Kuroro held his fingers on his neck and brooded in silence. He could not allow himself to doze off, or he might not wake up. Kuroro wished for a coat. A proper one, sturdy and warm. He was still looking for a substitute for firewood. Making a fire with what little he had found would be useless.

The long night proceeded, gnawing at his feet. The boy gave up on building a fire and sat down. His hands were cold enough to look red, and he let it happen: as Kuroro concentrated on his fingers, a dim glow greeted him, and it looked as though he were encasing a candle between the palms of his hands. The light could serve no purpose but Kuroro felt warmer inside. He had endured worse: sweeping clouds of ice, razor-sharp hail. The boy waited patiently for dawn. If Kuroro was determined to survive, nothing could destroy him.

Morning came as expected and warmed his freezing body.

His feet crunched in the mounds of discarded pieces. Kuroro examined a plastic lever. He was about to toss it because it was too light and brittle to be of any use, when he heard a cry of distress. He drew closer to investigate: a little girl was wailing in pain, sitting in a pile of junk. Up to now Kuroro had done surprisingly well; he had secured enough food and water to survive a day or two. The girl opened her eyes just to stare indifferently at the raven-haired boy and continued her high-pitched screams. One of her legs was trapped inside the unholy pile of objects. Broken, Kuroro thought. He took one of her hands and bit down on her fingers, hard. For an instant, the girl had forgotten all about the pain in her leg, and now Kuroro had her attention. The boy rubbed and caressed the little hand to initiate first contact.

"You're hurt. Come with me."

He dug out the debris around the injured limb and swept her up into his arms as if he did this kind of thing for a living.

"You're alone, right? Everyone's alone," the raven-haired boy muttered in the dusty wind.

Kuroro still had no idea whether or not she understood what he was saying by the time he set her down in the area where he usually slept. He touched the swollen part of her leg where the bones showed an unnatural bend half-way between the knee and the ankle. Kuroro set the whole thing straight, slowly shifting the insides through the flesh. The girl yelped and started crying from the pain. The raven-haired boy kept an eye on her fists to deflect a stray punch in his direction, but she remained calm. He pointed to the ground behind him with a bored expression.

"Check it out, I found a net. You stay here and try to catch some birds when they land, and I'll try to find something to tie your leg to that piece of junk."

The 'junk' he was referring to was in fact three wooden stool legs which would not only hold the bone in place, but would also enable her to walk by kneeling on a strap attached around the top. Her leg would come from the front and would wrap back under the pivotal point. Three points of contact with the ground would be the ideal structure to navigate the waste. Makeshift rope was not hard to find. Any plastic bag, piece of synthetic cloth, or roll of used tape would do.

Kuroro was back as quickly as he had imagined, and he saw that the girl had somehow fixed the holes in his net.

"There were no birds," she said in apology.

Kuroro's sleeping area was rarely visited by others. It was rumored that the black-haired kid killed intruders like a creature defending its nest. Kuroro showed the girl a hiding place which she could use during the day when he went out to scavenge. This way she would be safe until she recovered.

Kuroro was not very talkative. He poked the fire over which a pigeon was roasting. He almost jumped when the girl spoke.

"My name is Kyara. And I'm not alone. There are things that only I can see... like ghosts. But when you're here, they can't come." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Because they're afraid of you."

Kuroro put down the stick. The raven-haired boy turned to Kyara and smiled mysteriously. "Everyone's afraid of me."

To Kuroro's surprise, she laughed. "My ghosts are never afraid of anything, but they can't come close to you."

Kuroro shook his head and got back to the fire. This was nonsense.

Kuroro shared his food with her since he had more than enough to eat. He had developed effective strategies to gather food, always staying in the same place and getting to know every nook and corner. Sensible adults roamed around, exploring as far as possible, trying to find a way out of this hell. However in the meantime, these adults slowly starved to death, not knowing how or where to find something edible.

The next afternoon, when Kuroro came back with another bird, he heard Kyara singing.

"Mon prince est en chemin déjà                My prince is on his way already

Je ne sais pas comme il sera                     I don't know what he'll be like

Mais je sais qu'il viendra demain.             But I know he'll arrive tomorrow.

Mon prince est déjà en chemin."              My prince is already on his way.

As soon as she saw him, she switched back to the language they had spoken together.

"You're here!" she squealed excitedly as if they were best friends.

"Yeah I'm here. I'm in one place at a time, which is where I am." Kuroro said flatly, almost cynically mocking her innocence.

"I was singing the song and you came!"

"I sleep here every night. Of course I came back to where I live." The raven-haired boy was trying to remind her that she was on his territory, but she did not have the brains to understand such complex concepts, did she?

"Kuroro, do you know any songs?"

"No," Kuroro almost snapped at her out of exasperation.

"I was singing to make the ghosts go away," Kyara mumbled in humble excuse.

Then Kyara sang with the same exact tune, but in the language Kuroro could understand.

"There is a castle on a cloud

I like to go there in my sleep

Aren't any floors for me to sweep

Not in my castle on a cloud."

She looked up at him excitedly, waiting for him to clap or conjure a cheering crowd.

"That's the translation," she said.

Kuroro put down their dinner and turned to the girl.

"Where is that castle?"

"Oh it's just a song."

Kuroro looked disappointed and went back to doing something productive.

"Where were you before coming here?" asked Kyara.

Kuroro looked confused. He had always been right there, for as long as he knew.

"I've never been anywhere else," he said to the curious girl.

Kyara's eyes widened in awe. She gestured for Kuroro to sit down beside her as her leg was still broken. The raven-haired boy came closer.

"You're probably a bastard child then!" she whispered excitedly. "You didn't do anything wrong! You were just born!"

Kuroro had no idea what she was babbling on about. He blinked. Kyara carried on:

"I was sent here because I see ghosts, and people don't like ghosts. You know what I think? I think you were born into a royal family and that your mother died. Your father remarried and the new queen must have gotten rid of you."

She cupped her face in sympathy for the tragedy she had just imagined.

"You're actually a prince!" she said excitedly as she clapped her hands.

"How do you know all that?"

"I don't know!"

Kuroro shook his head again and got up to make a fire.

In the evenings, Kyara would ask Kuroro to tell her a story or to sing her a song. When Kuroro insisted that he didn't know how to do either, she'd tell a story, which didn't always have an ending, or she would try to remember a tune. Mostly the lyrics didn't make sense either, but it was good enough for a black-haired boy in Meteor City.

"Why are you here, then?" Kuroro asked after many days had gone by.

"Oh I stabbed my mother in a dream and I haven't woken up yet," she explained with a smile.

Kyara had spent her life singing to protect herself from her terrifying visions. The young girl had tapped into her inner Nen without properly unleashing its power. In a sense, she was gifted enough to pass on to the boy what little musical understanding she had developed, and so Kyara taught Kuroro how to sing. The concept of music had not occurred to Kuroro before then.

"Maybe you could be a star and give concerts in every country of the world," Kyara announced one day. "But you'd have to find a way out of here first."

Kuroro had no idea what she was talking about, but he would try anyway.

Death came quickly to the girl who had no Nen to strengthen her body.

Kuroro returned one evening to find Kyara silent and cold, surrounded by half a dozen grey figures. Were he to look away, they might attack him; so Kuroro treaded backwards carefully as he stared the ghosts down. Once they had disappeared out of sight, the boy allowed himself to catch his breath. The ghosts were real, and that girl had been seeing them all along.

More importantly, he was a failure. He was unable to negotiate with death. What if he went back there and talked with the ghosts? Would that do anything? Kuroro looked up and shot to his feet. One of the figures had appeared very close to him. It was not a pleasant sight. Kuroro shifted his eyes to the waste in the background and he was struck by how the creature seemed to belong in this barren landscape. Kuroro needed to find a way out. He was convinced that if he stayed a minute longer, he would become a similar creature with no face.

"I am leaving Shooting Star City. If you follow me, I'll destroy you." Kuroro declared as he prepared his sharp nails for the job.

The boy stayed very still; his eyes riveted on the smoky rags which the figure was made up of. It looked terrifying without a proper face, but friendly at the same time. The instant it raised one arm, Kuroro's body instinctively reacted to the unknown threat: the boy with black hair pierced through the figure's neck, bloodying his hands with thick ash. The ghost turned to dust and was dispersed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now please let me know what you think of child Kuroro. Why are the ghosts afraid of him?
> 
> The next chapter of Kuroro's Past is an origins story of his Nen abilities. If you have any suggestions, please share.
> 
> Does anybody know where the song is from? The English version speaks nought of a prince.  
> What's your theory about Kuroro's identity before he arrived in Shooting Star City?


	6. Trust Me, This Is My Job, And It’s All For Self-Defense Purposes

**FLAWED PERFECTIONISTS  
** **The Fallen Angel and the Last Kuruta**

**A Bookstore, A Basement, and Two Post-Apocalyptic Survivors**

**Chapter 6**

**Trust Me, This Is My Job, And It’s All For Self-Defense Purposes**

The next morning, Kurapika woke up feeling alone, like every morning since the massacre.

"We refuse no one…"

"So take nothing from us." Kuroro answered.

"One of you Spiders wrote that and left it near the bodies of my Clan members. Who was it?"

"Me of course."

Kurapika closed his eyes in disbelief and disappointment.

"Do you realize what mutilation means?" asked the Blacklist Hunter.

"How about you give us a demonstration?"

"You're not just the leader, you're by far the worst of your gang. Wiping out the Kuruta was not enough for you. You just had to write Meteor City's motto to broadcast it to the world."

"Good. Now we're getting somewhere."

Kurapika urged: "You said I don't know you. Explain yourself then. What must I know to understand who you are?"

Kurapika had been tempted to say 'what you are' but pedagogy required consistency. Kurapika would give Lucifer a chance to appeal to his pity.

"Shooting Star City. Ryuuseigai. Do you know anything about the place?"

"You, Kuroro Lucifer, founded the criminal near terrorist organization the Phantom Troupe there ten years ago."

The Kuruta balled his fists at having the name he hated the most in the world forced onto his tongue.

Kuroro shook his head. Only nine, Kurapika. Get your facts straight.

Lucifer sat down and Kurapika followed suit. Kuroro started his explanation.

"Ever wondered why so many black-listed targets have no identity? They overwhelmingly come from Shooting Star City. Outsiders like you call it Meteor City... It's not a pretty place." Maybe he would take the blonde with him one day. "There are allegedly 8 to 10 million humans in Ryuuseigai. People who do not exist on any official records. Outcasts, undesirables, people lost to society, psychiatric hospital prisoners for which not a soul has a glimmer of hope left, unwanted babies, broken bodies and minds, not to forget convicts of every crime imaginable. And the Ryuuseigai citizens are those above the ground with most vital organs functional. Those who survived," he said in a dark tone.

"Who survived... what?" Kurapika asked softly.

"Ryuuseigai itself. I must say the Ryuuseigai nationality is by far the hardest to hold on to. It's a pity the place is incapable of providing ID or a passport, fake or otherwise."

He wanted one of those. Just for the fun of comparing them with the other Troupe members from Shooting Star. What would it say? 'The Council of Ryuuseigai requests and requires in the name of Death, all those whom it may concern to allow the bearer to pass freely without let or hindrance, and to afford the bearer a legal identity… or not... as may be necessary.' What a joke.

"What's so dangerous?"

Kuroro breathed in and braced himself for the sheer disembodied memories of the hardships.

"It's a junkyard. There is no food. Radioactive waste keeps arriving on containerships. It's everywhere. Do you even know what radioactive exposure does to a human?" He sighed. Of course the boy couldn't know. "Diseases of all sorts, especially those science is so proud of having eradicated. Floods, acid rain, and earthquakes are the least of your concerns there. Imagine a wasteland with those conditions. Now picture it with humans. That's what makes it so much worse. Beautiful how the Romans of Antiquity put it. 'Homo homini lupus est.' I've seen every type of animal, but humans, when pushed too far, are comparable to none. Certainly not to wolves. Nen is an incredible thing, Kurapika. The best part is that we know almost nothing about it." Kuroro's black eyes sparkled in the dark.

The Kuruta felt relieved to know that the Latin adage meant 'Man is wolf to man.' Then he felt uneasy because he understood Kuroro's words and he shared the same obscure cultural references. Kuroro was just inscribing himself in Roman culture to prove his point about being a citizen of the world, far from people's usual frame of reference. He continued chatting with the attentive Kuruta:

"I have this weird feeling every time I see Shooting Star. It's like falling in love except it's gut-churningly revolting. All these people living on. For no reason." Kuroro wondered how he knew what falling in love felt like, never having had the experience... "I was recently nominated to be a Ryuuseigai Elder" again, "but as you can imagine I refused."

"Why?"

Interesting, Kuroro thought. Kurapika's sociable side could not help but take over.

I have better things to do. Like chatting with you.

Instead he answered: "I'm not that old!"

"Oh."

Kuroro noted Kurapika had not questioned his nomination.

"Shooting Star is an easy prey for... kidnapping kids and abusing them. There is a forced agreement between the mafia groups operating said business and Ryuuseigai. They have quotas. Ryuuseigai will not allow them to take Nen-users. It's in their own interest anyway. And these weak kids would be dead if they stayed any longer."

Kurapika could not believe Lucifer.

"You don't mean they use kids to—"

"Yes. For guys like your target employers." Kids your age.

"No."

"The type of people with so much money they don't know what else to do with it."

So Lucifer despised excessive wealth just in the same way Kurapika did. But this man was a hypocrite! His words could not be trusted.

Kuroro shrugged, seeing Kurapika lost in thought. He didn't care whether Kurapika learned the truth; he wasn't even going to tell him to watch out for himself. He couldn't care less.

"But nobody really cares. By the way, Ryuuseigai has a high percentage of Nen-users. As I just explained, people without supernatural powers suffer the death sentence from exile to Shooting Star."

"You're from Shooting Star City." Kurapika mentally slapped himself for having nothing smarter to say.

"Yes, Kurapika." Kuroro got up, knowing their pleasant conversation was finished. "Now you can psychoanalyze me and conclude that I am completely crazy." He smiled like a happy madman just to play around with the Kuruta. By now, Kuroro had determined that Kurapika was not going to kill him. However, what Kurapika intended to do with him remained unclear.

Kurapika rose to his feet as he spoke: "If you think telling me your back-story is going to vindicate all your actions, you are sorely mistaken."

"Nothing will ever justify my actions. I can't care less about the people I wrong because they are too weak to make me care." It's just a law of nature. The weak—

"Die."

Kuroro was compelled to laugh, then he felt Kurapika encircle him with chains. Laughing and being held tightly put him in a difficult position to breathe. The blonde lifted Kuroro off the floor and rammed him into the wall. He let go of Lucifer, who was still laughing, only silently. The man bent over; his lungs had been crushed again. He looked at Kurapika to stay aware of his surroundings, but it was hard: Kurapika was too far away. Then everything went dark.

Kurapika had switched off the light.

Day after day, Kurapika confronted Kuroro in the dark room. Every encounter with the criminal made him feel worse, and he wasn't making much progress. Kurapika was losing his patience and he wasn't even sure of what he was trying to achieve. Kurapika knew his way of interrogating and torturing Lucifer was cringeworthy but that would not stop him from trying. Of course he had no experience in those things! No one was watching anyway, now that he had encrypted the camera footage, so this should be the perfect opportunity to train and increase his credibility.

Kurapika treated Lucifer with all the cruelty he deserved. Nevertheless, Kurapika wanted him in his room many stories above the dark cell. It was such a hassle to descend, pass all the security, and justify his movements in restricted areas of the building.

"How are you feeling?" Kuroro asked as if Kurapika was the one in a critical state.

The Kuruta set down the bundle he was carrying and intentionally let one of his keys fall to the floor to test Lucifer. Kuroro picked up the key in the sole intention of returning it. Kurapika was alert as ever: Chain Jail had activated on the kneeling man who was reaching up to hand him the key, and Kuroro had no choice but to let the piece of metal fall melodiously to the floor. Kurapika snatched it from beneath his outstretched arm.

"I know damn well you don't need this to escape. Why are you still here?"

He sounded as though he wanted Kuroro to be gone.

"You'll find me and lock me up again." Kuroro smiled. And he was right.

"Why do you offend me in everything you do? Don't you understand I would take you to my room if you weren't so damn insufferable?"

"I'm perfectly comfortable here, I don't like elevators, and I'm afraid of heights." Kuroro would have counted off the reasons on his fingers if it weren't for the fact that his arms were tied.

"Answer me truthfully."

"I am terrified by lethal distances to the ground below."

"That's preposterous."

Kuroro laughed inwardly at the joke he could have made about Kurapika judging it preposterous to fear lethal vertical distances. Then he laughed out loud for being one of those pathetic victims of vertigo.

"I know! Why do you want me in your room anyways? Using me for anything would just result in staining your self-esteem and you know that. You've got yourself a slave, not a saint. I'm not making any progress and the learning environment is not the problem."

Kurapika rummaged in the bag.

"This is bread. You can eat it once I'm finished with you."

Then Kurapika threw Kuroro a blunt wooden sword which he had taken out of the bag. Lucifer regained control over his body just before the sword hit him in the face, and he successfully caught it.

The Kuruta would take from Lucifer every fighting skill he had.

"Show me!"

"I don't have any experience with—"

Kurapika lunged forward, aiming at Kuroro's throat with Nen. Kuroro held the sword with both hands and deflected the attack with his own wooden blade in an expert flick of the wrist. Kuroro attempted to reason the boy because there was no way this would end in Kurapika's victory:

"You do not seem content with this. I am trying hard to find out what would satisfy you. But you keep changing your mind about what response you want from me. I've been perfectly honest with you the whole time."

"Fight!"

Kuroro dodged Kurapika's attacks. The raven-haired man kicked off his business shoes to control his movements better, gripping the floor barefoot like he had done his entire youth. Kurapika came back into range, and tried striking at him again. Kuroro stopped dodging. He stood his ground, blocked the attack, then hit Kurapika's right wrist by reflex. At the moment of impact, his right foot automatically stamped the ground to validate the point. It was not a question of skill. Kuroro was simply overtrained. He spent his Danchou days sparring with Nobunaga because the iaido master kept challenging him to swordfights. Serious fights between Gen'ei Ryodan members were prohibited for obvious reasons. At length Kuroro and Nobunaga chose to use blunt swords, codified attacks, and protective armor since the use of Nen was out of the question. They gradually determined kendo to be the perfect activity for them. The martial art had been developed in days of old by the samurai class to replace mortal duels. Kuroro had just under a decade of experience, learning from none other than Nobunaga.

The wrist-cutting gesture was perfect and his blond opponent yelped as his sword was thrown to the side. The attack was meant for wrist guards, and full-contact fights in kendo required bamboo swords, which were more or less flexible to avoid breaking bones during training sessions. The sword Kuroro had just used was solid wood.

Kurapika bent over, holding his hand. Kuroro had already let his weapon fall. He came closer to Kurapika, hoping he hadn't done any damage. He was so affected that he was ready to take the boy in his arms. Kuroro froze in the light of the red irises directed at him. Kurapika's eyes were wide like a terrified animal's.

"Don't touch me."

Kuroro needed to show affection to prove his honesty and concern for Kurapika.

"Please let me see."

Kurapika glared. Why was Kuroro backing down? The man got on his knees and slowly took Kurapika's hand in his.

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing. I had to earn a living somehow in Shooting Star City before I learned Nen. In one of my former lives long ago, long gone."

Cautiously, he started bending the hand down to check for broken bones.

"I didn't mean to.. do that." He avoided the words 'hurt you' so that Kurapika would not think Kuroro was asserting his victory. "What's the fighting about anyway?"

After the kinesthetic massage, Kuroro stood up and Kurapika checked his hand. His feelings were in turmoil. Why was Kuroro pretending that he cared? Kurapika made a fist, checking the damage for himself, and hit Kuroro in the stomach, packing a full-force punch enhanced with Nen. Kuroro had the time to interpose his hands but he was thrown against the wall. The dust settled on a writhing figure. Kuroro's right forearm was shattered from the inside, his head was hanging sideways from the pain, but he remained silent.

"Get up!"

He obeyed only to be attacked again. Kurapika's Eyes lit up.

"What's wrong with you? You're starving! You're weaker than ever! You're about to die and you don't even care. You look fine, you talk to me like you're happy."

"Kurapika, you have no idea what you're doing."

Kurapika lowered his Nen and punched him in the face. Blood would soon be visible under Kuroro's pale skin. Kurapika had hit his nose. It hurt like hell but Kuroro brought his eyes back to Kurapika. I'm not done talking.

"You're not ready for this. By hurting me, you're only destroying yourself."

Chains snaked around his neck. He was pulled backwards and pinned to the wall. Kurapika slowly advanced.

Kurapika's Scarlet Eyes. Kuroro had to concentrate on that. They were globes holding uncountably many details. The chains around him were more than uncomfortable. They were cold and painful. His broken arm was only getting worse, and Kurapika was acting on his rage again.

Kuroro could bear torture. It was never easy but this was manageable. Kurapika's Scarlet Eyes went dull, which was odd. Was he committed to letting him feel pain or not? What was going on in the boy's head?

The chains relentlessly crushed his body. Alright, now this was painful, but he was not going to lose consciousness. Kurapika was yelling at him in that adorable voice, but it was impossible to make out the words. Kuroro's unresponsiveness only frustrated Kurapika further. His Scarlet Eyes resurfaced.

"You need to make it up! Repent. Cleanse yourself."

Kurapika sounded uncertain, but Kuroro couldn't hear. Kurapika's chains were preventing sufficient bloodstream from going to his head.

Kurapika could not understand Kuroro's compassionate behavior. Kuroro was plain evil. Why was it that this time he did not make fun of Kurapika? He had completely defeated him in the sword fight, then he had helped the blonde recover his position of power. Kuroro was messing with his feelings.

Kurapika had said to his friends: "I do not fear death. What I fear is that my rage will one day fade away." For an instant, Kurapika's red rage was replaced by the self-conscious feeling that Kuroro had been merciful while Kurapika continued his stalling revenge. His eyes went back to grey and his aura became more difficult to sustain.

Kuroro thought he was having a disembodied Near Death Experience when the pressure disappeared. Kurapika's chains shattered, fell to the floor, and disintegrated.

Lucifer recovered his senses quickly enough, hearing the chains. Kurapika grabbed a sword to ward off Kuroro Lucifer but the man easily took the weapon out of his grasp. He wrapped his left hand around the boy's neck, Kurapika's light grey eyes accurately betraying shock. It was a warm touch, possessive but gentle. He lowered the Kuruta down onto his knees, then Kuroro pinned him to the ground under his weight and raised his arm, threatening to perform an ending blow now that Kurapika's Nen had failed him.

"Don't!"

"Give me one reason." The only valid answer is 'I broke your arm!'

"I'm worth more alive than dead!" said the boy, stalling for enough time to regain his Nen.

Kuroro laughed. Smart he thought. He brought a strand of blond hair to his face, as if he was considering it. "But that's gross value. In net value, it's a different story. I don't even know if I can actually sell you alive for the right price." Seeing doubt on the boy's face, he smiled at him.

"Well, remove the Judgement Chain, and I might reconsider." Kurapika's heart pounded. "No, really I'm just messing with you." That would only motivate me to kill you on the spot. First I'll destroy your Nen, then your mind, then your body's integrity. "You're no different from the other Kurutas."

Kuroro was almost trying to convince himself by saying the last fact. He struck the back of Kurapika's head with an expert chop, using his left hand. Hopefully he wasn't so out of practice that he had accidentally killed the boy, but only given him a forceful push into well-needed sleep. He found his shoes and kicked them on, turned back to the Kuruta and took Kurapika's phone, cards, and keys. No need for the food. He took the lifeless figure into his arms and heaved him over his shoulder. That's when the headache and blindness hit him.

Using the electronic card Kurapika had on him, Kuroro escaped to bring Kurapika out. As expected, the corridors were guarded. He couldn't fight in this state. He had to run. The years of kendo seemed to come in handy after all. He didn't have arms to help him run, but that was typical of kendo. Everything came from the legs up. The arms were not needed to move quickly. He thought of the Spider. The limbs move independently. The head is not needed for the survival of the Spider. He could get out even with half his senses functional.

All he had to do was make sure not to get shot in the head. If he could manage that, everything else would be fine. He would find a way out; even if he had to tear the entire building apart.

The most enjoyable interlude was of course the elevator ride. He couldn't stand elevators! Unfortunately he could not go up with the stairs. Kuroro needed all the energy he had left to finish the task at hand. He turned to his mirror reflection and tried to laugh away his panic. He was starting to feel dizzy. If he lost consciousness, he was as good as dead.

"Kurapika… Talk to me. Where are we going again?" Kuroro whispered in his victim's ear. He rested his head on the cold mirror to concentrate. "Ut plus Ux. And then a third partial derivative. What do you think, Kurapika?" Kuroro felt fine again. The Nen master smashed the glass with his fist just as the elevator doors opened.

Once at ground level, he tore past guards, slipping behind furniture and metal detectors. He could see the revolving doors. He draped Kurapika in his suit coat, swinging it off over his shoulders. Kuroro Lucifer wrapped his arms around Kurapika's body, hoping for the best and crashed into the glass: there was no time to wait for the doors to cooperate.

An armed security agent stationed outside was alerted all too quickly by the glass explosion. He pointed his hand gun at Lucifer and shot six bullets. Kuroro pushed the blind spots out of his blurred vision and managed to dodge four. The barrel rose with each shot. The fifth was too high. It was headed for Kurapika. Kuroro was holding the boy's legs with his left arm. If he moved away from the bullet, chances were it would shoot the Kuruta in the head! He jumped onto the trajectory, taking the shot to protect Kurapika. The sixth bullet confirmed its target and also sunk in. Kuroro slit the guy's throat without further thought.

Seconds after shattering the glass doors, his blood started oozing out under the glass cuts into his white collared shirt. He swung his suit jacket back on, now that Kurapika was safe. Kurapika had not suffered from the glass, thanks to Kuroro, but he had to bring the Kuruta to a Nen sealer as fast as possible. Of course he knew where to go. Kuroro was dizzy as hell but he could stand, carry Kurapika, and find his way thanks to his other senses. By now Kurapika's fist and chain damage was outclassed by the cuts and bullets. Kuroro's nose was fine. Just as broken as ever.

The only reason Kuroro had protected Kurapika was for his own survival. With gashes all over the boy's skin, the Nen sealer might not complete his work fast enough. Had Kurapika died before pacifying his Nen, Kuroro might be killed by the residual Nen inside Judgement Chain. It was mere self-defense.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weak... die.  
> What does this mean for Kurapika?
> 
> Is Kuroro afraid of heights? If not, what is the purpose of pretending?
> 
> Copy-paste your favorite line. ^^


End file.
